HUNTINGTOWER

BY

JOHN BUCHAN

To W. P. Ker. 

If the Professor of Poetry in the University of Oxford has notforgotten the rock whence he was hewn, this simple story may give anhour of entertainment. I offer it to you because I think you have metmy friend Dickson McCunn, and I dare to hope that you may even in yourmany sojournings in the Westlands have encountered one or other of theGorbals Die-Hards. If you share my kindly feeling for Dickson, you willbe interested in some facts which I have lately ascertained about hisancestry. In his veins there flows a portion of the redoubtable bloodof the Nicol Jarvies. When the Bailie, you remember, returned from hisjourney to Rob Roy beyond the Highland Line, he espoused hishousekeeper Mattie, "an honest man's daughter and a near cousin o' theLaird o' Limmerfield. " The union was blessed with a son, who succeededto the Bailie's business and in due course begat daughters, one of whommarried a certain Ebenezer McCunn, of whom there is record in thearchives of the Hammermen of Glasgow. Ebenezer's grandson, Peter byname, was Provost of Kirkintilloch, and his second son was the fatherof my hero by his marriage with Robina Dickson, oldest daughter of oneRobert Dickson, a tenant-farmer in the Lennox. So there are colouredthreads in Mr. McCunn's pedigree, and, like the Bailie, he can countkin, should he wish, with Rob Roy himself through "the auld wife ayontthe fire at Stuckavrallachan. "

Such as it is, I dedicate to you the story, and ask for no betterverdict on it than that of that profound critic of life and literature, Mr. Huckleberry Finn, who observed of the Pilgrim's Progress that he"considered the statements interesting, but tough. "

J. B. 

CONTENTS. 

Prologue

1. How a Retired Provision Merchant felt the Impulse of Spring. 

2. Of Mr. John Heritage and the Difference in Points of View. 

3. How Childe Roland and Another came to the Dark tower. 

4. Dougal. 

5. Of the Princess in the Tower. 

6. How Mr. McCunn departed with Relief and returned with Resolution. 

7. Sundry Doings in the Mirk. 

8. How a Middle-aged Crusader accepted a Challenge. 

9. The First Battle of the Cruives. 

10. Deals with an Escape and a Journey. 

11. Gravity out of Bed. 

12. How Mr. McCunn committed an Assault upon an Ally. 

13. The Coming of the Danish Brig. 

14. The Second Battle of the Cruives. 

15. The Gorbals Die-Hards go into Action. 

16. In which a Princess leaves a Dark Tower and a Provision Merchant returns to his Family. 

HUNTINGTOWER. 

PROLOGUE. 

The girl came into the room with a darting movement like a swallow, looked round her with the same birdlike quickness, and then ran acrossthe polished floor to where a young man sat on a sofa with one leg laidalong it. 

"I have saved you this dance, Quentin, " she said, pronouncing the namewith a pretty staccato. "You must be lonely not dancing, so I will sitwith you. What shall we talk about?"

The young man did not answer at once, for his gaze was held by herface. He had never dreamed that the gawky and rather plain little girlwhom he had romped with long ago in Paris would grow into such a being. The clean delicate lines of her figure, the exquisite pure colouring ofhair and skin, the charming young arrogance of the eyes--this wasbeauty, he reflected, a miracle, a revelation. Her virginal finenessand her dress, which was the tint of pale fire, gave her the air of acreature of ice and flame. 

"About yourself, please, Saskia, " he said. "Are you happy now that youare a grown-up lady?"

"Happy!" Her voice had a thrill in it like music, frosty music. "Thedays are far too short. I grudge the hours when I must sleep. They sayit is sad for me to make my debut in a time of war. But the world isvery kind to me, and after all it is a victorious war for our Russia. And listen to me, Quentin. To-morrow I am to be allowed to beginnursing at the Alexander Hospital. What do you think of that?"

The time was January 1916, and the place a room in the great NirskiPalace. No hint of war, no breath from the snowy streets, entered thatcurious chamber where Prince Peter Nirski kept some of the chief of hisfamous treasures. It was notable for its lack of drapery andupholstering--only a sofa or two and a few fine rugs on the cedarfloor. The walls were of a green marble veined like malachite, theceiling was of darker marble inlaid with white intaglios. Scatteredeverywhere were tables and cabinets laden with celadon china, andcarved jade, and ivories, and shimmering Persian and Rhodian vessels. In all the room there was scarcely anything of metal and no touch ofgilding or bright colour. The light came from green alabaster censers, and the place swam in a cold green radiance like some cavern below thesea. The air was warm and scented, and though it was very quiet there, a hum of voices and the strains of dance music drifted to it from thepillared corridor in which could be seen the glare of lights from thegreat ballroom beyond. 

The young man had a thin face with lines of suffering round the mouthand eyes. The warm room had given him a high colour, which increasedhis air of fragility. He felt a little choked by the place, whichseemed to him for both body and mind a hot-house, though he knew verywell that the Nirski Palace on this gala evening was in no way typicalof the land or its masters. Only a week ago he had been eating blackbread with its owner in a hut on the Volhynian front. 

"You have become amazing, Saskia, " he said. "I won't pay my oldplayfellow compliments; besides, you must be tired of them. I wish youhappiness all the day long like a fairy-tale Princess. But a crocklike me can't do much to help you to it. The service seems to be thewrong way round, for here you are wasting your time talking to me. "

She put her hand on his. "Poor Quentin! Is the leg very bad?"

He laughed. "O, no. It's mending famously. I'll be able to get aboutwithout a stick in another month, and then you've got to teach me allthe new dances. "

The jigging music of a two-step floated down the corridor. It made theyoung man's brow contract, for it brought to him a vision of dead facesin the gloom of a November dusk. He had once had a friend who used towhistle that air, and he had seen him die in the Hollebeke mud. Therewas something macabre in the tune.... He was surely morbid thisevening, for there seemed something macabre about the house, the room, the dancing, all Russia.... These last days he had suffered from asense of calamity impending, of a dark curtain drawing down upon asplendid world. They didn't agree with him at the Embassy, but hecould not get rid of the notion. 

The girl saw his sudden abstraction. 

"What are you thinking about?" she asked. It had been her favouritequestion as a child. 

"I was thinking that I rather wished you were still in Paris. "

"But why?"

"Because I think you would be safer. "

"Oh, what nonsense, Quentin dear! Where should I be safe if not in myown Russia, where I have friends--oh, so many, and tribes and tribes ofrelations? It is France and England that are unsafe with the Germanguns grumbling at their doors.... My complaint is that my life is toocosseted and padded. I am too secure, and I do not want to be secure. "

The young man lifted a heavy casket from a table at his elbow. It wasof dark green imperial jade, with a wonderfully carved lid. He tookoff the lid and picked up three small oddments of ivory--a priest witha beard, a tiny soldier, and a draught-ox. Putting the three in atriangle, he balanced the jade box on them. 

"Look, Saskia! If you were living inside that box you would think itvery secure. You would note the thickness of the walls and thehardness of the stone, and you would dream away in a peaceful greendusk. But all the time it would be held up by trifles--brittletrifles. "

She shook her head. "You do not understand. You cannot understand. Weare a very old and strong people with roots deep, deep in the earth. "

"Please God you are right, " he said. "But, Saskia, you know that if Ican ever serve you, you have only to command me. Now I can do no morefor you than the mouse for the lion--at the beginning of the story. Butthe story had an end, you remember, and some day it may be in my powerto help you. Promise to send for me. "

The girl laughed merrily. "The King of Spain's daughter, " she quoted, "Came to visit me, And all for the love Of my little nut-tree. "

The other laughed also, as a young man in the uniform of thePreobrajenski Guards approached to claim the girl. "Even a nut-treemay be a shelter in a storm, " he said. 

"Of course I promise, Quentin, " she said. "Au revoir. Soon I willcome and take you to supper, and we will talk of nothing but nut-trees. "

He watched the two leave the room, her gown glowing like a tongue offire in that shadowy archway. Then he slowly rose to his feet, for hethought that for a little he would watch the dancing. Something movedbeside him, and he turned in time to prevent the jade casket fromcrashing to the floor. Two of the supports had slipped. 

He replaced the thing on its proper table and stood silent for a moment. 

"The priest and the soldier gone, and only the beast of burden left. IfI were inclined to be superstitious, I should call that a dashed badomen. "

CHAPTER I

HOW A RETIRED PROVISION MERCHANT FELT THE IMPULSE OF SPRING

Mr. Dickson McCunn completed the polishing of his smooth cheeks withthe towel, glanced appreciatively at their reflection in thelooking-glass, and then permitted his eyes to stray out of the window. In the little garden lilacs were budding, and there was a gold line ofdaffodils beside the tiny greenhouse. Beyond the sooty wall a birchflaunted its new tassels, and the jackdaws were circling about thesteeple of the Guthrie Memorial Kirk. A blackbird whistled from athorn-bush, and Mr. McCunn was inspired to follow its example. He begana tolerable version of "Roy's Wife of Aldivalloch. "

He felt singularly light-hearted, and the immediate cause was hissafety razor. A week ago he had bought the thing in a sudden fit ofenterprise, and now he shaved in five minutes, where before he hadtaken twenty, and no longer confronted his fellows, at least one day inthree, with a countenance ludicrously mottled by sticking-plaster. Calculation revealed to him the fact that in his fifty-five years, having begun to shave at eighteen, he had wasted three thousand threehundred and seventy hours--or one hundred and forty days--or betweenfour and five months--by his neglect of this admirable invention. Nowhe felt that he had stolen a march on Time. He had fallen heir, thuslate, to a fortune in unpurchasable leisure. 

He began to dress himself in the sombre clothes in which he had beenaccustomed for thirty-five years and more to go down to the shop inMearns Street. And then a thought came to him which made him discardthe grey-striped trousers, sit down on the edge of his bed, and muse. 

Since Saturday the shop was a thing of the past. On Saturday athalf-past eleven, to the accompaniment of a glass of dubious sherry, hehad completed the arrangements by which the provision shop in MearnsStreet, which had borne so long the legend of D. McCunn, together withthe branches in Crossmyloof and the Shaws, became the property of acompany, yclept the United Supply Stores, Limited. He had received inpayment cash, debentures and preference shares, and his lawyers and hisown acumen had acclaimed the bargain. But all the week-end he had beena little sad. It was the end of so old a song, and he knew no othertune to sing. He was comfortably off, healthy, free from anyparticular cares in life, but free too from any particular duties. "Will I be going to turn into a useless old man?" he asked himself. 

But he had woke up this Monday to the sound of the blackbird, and theworld, which had seemed rather empty twelve hours before, was now briskand alluring. His prowess in quick shaving assured him of his youth. "I'm no' that dead old, " he observed, as he sat on the edge of he bed, to his reflection in the big looking-glass. 

It was not an old face. The sandy hair was a little thin on the topand a little grey at the temples, the figure was perhaps a little toofull for youthful elegance, and an athlete would have censured the neckas too fleshy for perfect health. But the cheeks were rosy, the skinclear, and the pale eyes singularly childlike. They were a little weak, those eyes, and had some difficulty in looking for long at the sameobject, so that Mr. McCunn did not stare people in the face, and had, in consequence, at one time in his career acquired a perfectlyundeserved reputation for cunning. He shaved clean, and lookeduncommonly like a wise, plump schoolboy. As he gazed at his simulacrumhe stopped whistling "Roy's Wife" and let his countenance harden into anoble sternness. Then he laughed, and observed in the language of hisyouth that there was "life in the auld dowg yet. " In that moment thesoul of Mr. McCunn conceived the Great Plan. 

The first sign of it was that he swept all his business garmentsunceremoniously on to the floor. The next that he rootled at thebottom of a deep drawer and extracted a most disreputable tweed suit. It had once been what I believe is called a Lovat mixture, but was nowa nondescript sub-fusc, with bright patches of colour like moss onwhinstone. He regarded it lovingly, for it had been for twenty yearshis holiday wear, emerging annually for a hallowed month to be stainedwith salt and bleached with sun. He put it on, and stood shrouded inan odour of camphor. A pair of thick nailed boots and a flannel shirtand collar completed the equipment of the sportsman. He had anotherlong look at himself in the glass, and then descended whistling tobreakfast. This time the tune was "Macgregors' Gathering, " and thesound of it stirred the grimy lips of a man outside who was deliveringcoals--himself a Macgregor--to follow suit. Mr McCunn was a veryfountain of music that morning. 

Tibby, the aged maid, had his newspaper and letters waiting by hisplate, and a dish of ham and eggs frizzling near the fire. He fell toravenously but still musingly, and he had reached the stage of sconesand jam before he glanced at his correspondence. There was a letterfrom his wife now holidaying at the Neuk Hydropathic. She reported thather health was improving, and that she had met various people who hadknown somebody else whom she had once known herself. Mr. McCunn readthe dutiful pages and smiled. "Mamma's enjoying herself fine, " heobserved to the teapot. He knew that for his wife the earthly paradisewas a hydropathic, where she put on her afternoon dress and every jewelshe possessed when she rose in the morning, ate large meals of whichthe novelty atoned for the nastiness, and collected an immense casualacquaintance, with whom she discussed ailments, ministers, suddendeaths, and the intricate genealogies of her class. For his part herancorously hated hydropathics, having once spent a black week underthe roof of one in his wife's company. He detested the food, theTurkish baths (he had a passionate aversion to baring his body beforestrangers), the inability to find anything to do and the compulsion toendless small talk. A thought flitted over his mind which he was tooloyal to formulate. Once he and his wife had had similar likings, butthey had taken different roads since their child died. Janet! He sawagain--he was never quite free from the sight--the solemn littlewhite-frocked girl who had died long ago in the Spring. 

It may have been the thought of the Neuk Hydropathic, or more likelythe thin clean scent of the daffodils with which Tibby had decked thetable, but long ere breakfast was finished the Great Plan had ceased tobe an airy vision and become a sober well-masoned structure. Mr. McCunn--I may confess it at the start--was an incurable romantic. 

He had had a humdrum life since the day when he had first entered hisuncle's shop with the hope of some day succeeding that honest grocer;and his feet had never strayed a yard from his sober rut. But his mind, like the Dying Gladiator's, had been far away. As a boy he had voyagedamong books, and they had given him a world where he could shape hiscareer according to his whimsical fancy. Not that Mr. McCunn was whatis known as a great reader. He read slowly and fastidiously, and soughtin literature for one thing alone. Sir Walter Scott had been his firstguide, but he read the novels not for their insight into humancharacter or for their historical pageantry, but because they gave himmaterial wherewith to construct fantastic journeys. It was the samewith Dickens. A lit tavern, a stage-coach, post-horses, the clack ofhoofs on a frosty road, went to his head like wine. He was a Jacobitenot because he had any views on Divine Right, but because he had alwaysbefore his eyes a picture of a knot of adventurers in cloaks, newlanded from France among the western heather. 

On this select basis he had built up his small library--Defoe, Hakluyt, Hazlitt and the essayists, Boswell, some indifferent romances, and ashelf of spirited poetry. His tastes became known, and he acquired areputation for a scholarly habit. He was president of the LiterarySociety of the Guthrie Memorial Kirk, and read to its members a varietyof papers full of a gusto which rarely became critical. He had beenthree times chairman at Burns Anniversary dinners, and had deliveredorations in eulogy of the national Bard; not because he greatly admiredhim--he thought him rather vulgar--but because he took Burns as anemblem of the un-Burns-like literature which he loved. Mr. McCunn wasno scholar and was sublimely unconscious of background. He grew hisflowers in his small garden-plot oblivious of their origin so long asthey gave him the colour and scent he sought. Scent, I say, for heappreciated more than the mere picturesque. He had a passion for wordsand cadences, and would be haunted for weeks by a cunning phrase, savouring it as a connoisseur savours a vintage. Wherefore long ago, when he could ill afford it, he had purchased the Edinburgh Stevenson. They were the only large books on his shelves, for he had a liking forsmall volumes--things he could stuff into his pocket in that suddenjourney which he loved to contemplate. 

Only he had never taken it. The shop had tied him up for eleven monthsin the year, and the twelfth had always found him settled decorouslywith his wife in some seaside villa. He had not fretted, for he wascontent with dreams. He was always a little tired, too, when theholidays came, and his wife told him he was growing old. He consoledhimself with tags from the more philosophic of his authors, but hescarcely needed consolation. For he had large stores of modestcontentment. 

But now something had happened. A spring morning and a safety razorhad convinced him that he was still young. Since yesterday he was aman of a large leisure. Providence had done for him what he wouldnever have done for himself. The rut in which he had travelled so longhad given place to open country. He repeated to himself one of thequotations with which he had been wont to stir the literary young menat the Guthrie Memorial Kirk:

 "What's a man's age? He must hurry more, that's all; Cram in a day, what his youth took a year to hold: When we mind labour, then only, we're too old-- What age had Methusalem when he begat Saul?

He would go journeying--who but he?--pleasantly. "

It sounds a trivial resolve, but it quickened Mr. McCunn to the depthsof his being. A holiday, and alone! On foot, of course, for he musttravel light. He would buckle on a pack after the approved fashion. He had the very thing in a drawer upstairs, which he had bought someyears ago at a sale. That and a waterproof and a stick, and his outfitwas complete. A book, too, and, as he lit his first pipe, heconsidered what it should be. Poetry, clearly, for it was the Spring, and besides poetry could be got in pleasantly small bulk. He stoodbefore his bookshelves trying to select a volume, rejecting one afteranother as inapposite. Browning--Keats, Shelley--they seemed moresuited for the hearth than for the roadside. He did not want anythingScots, for he was of opinion that Spring came more richly in Englandand that English people had a better notion of it. He was tempted bythe Oxford Anthology, but was deterred by its thickness, for he did notpossess the thin-paper edition. Finally he selected Izaak Walton. Hehad never fished in his life, but The Compleat Angler seemed to fit hismood. It was old and curious and learned and fragrant with the youth ofthings. He remembered its falling cadences, its country songs and wisemeditations. Decidedly it was the right scrip for his pilgrimage. 

Characteristically he thought last of where he was to go. Every bit ofthe world beyond his front door had its charms to the seeing eye. Thereseemed nothing common or unclean that fresh morning. Even a walk amongcoal-pits had its attractions.... But since he had the right to choose, he lingered over it like an epicure. Not the Highlands, for Springcame late among their sour mosses. Some place where there were fieldsand woods and inns, somewhere, too, within call of the sea. It mustnot be too remote, for he had no time to waste on train journeys; nortoo near, for he wanted a countryside untainted. Presently he thoughtof Carrick. A good green land, as he remembered it, with purposefulwhite roads and public-houses sacred to the memory of Burns; near thehills but yet lowland, and with a bright sea chafing on its shores. Hedecided on Carrick, found a map, and planned his journey. 

Then he routed out his knapsack, packed it with a modest change ofraiment, and sent out Tibby to buy chocolate and tobacco and to cash acheque at the Strathclyde Bank. Till Tibby returned he occupiedhimself with delicious dreams.... He saw himself daily growing brownerand leaner, swinging along broad highways or wandering in bypaths. Hepictured his seasons of ease, when he unslung his pack and smoked insome clump of lilacs by a burnside--he remembered a phrase ofStevenson's somewhat like that. He would meet and talk with all sortsof folk; an exhilarating prospect, for Mr. McCunn loved his kind. There would be the evening hour before he reached his inn, when, pleasantly tired, he would top some ridge and see the welcoming lightsof a little town. There would be the lamp-lit after-supper time whenhe would read and reflect, and the start in the gay morning, whentobacco tastes sweetest and even fifty-five seems young. It would beholiday of the purest, for no business now tugged at his coat-tails. He was beginning a new life, he told himself, when he could cultivatethe seedling interests which had withered beneath the far-reachingshade of the shop. Was ever a man more fortunate or more free?

Tibby was told that he was going off for a week or two. No lettersneed be forwarded, for he would be constantly moving, but Mrs. McCunnat the Neuk Hydropathic would be kept informed of his whereabouts. Presently he stood on his doorstep, a stocky figure in ancient tweeds, with a bulging pack slung on his arm, and a stout hazel stick in hishand. A passer-by would have remarked an elderly shopkeeper bentapparently on a day in the country, a common little man on a prosaicerrand. But the passer-by would have been wrong, for he could not seeinto the heart. The plump citizen was the eternal pilgrim; he wasJason, Ulysses, Eric the Red, Albuquerque, Cortez--starting out todiscover new worlds. 

Before he left Mr. McCunn had given Tibby a letter to post. Thatmorning he had received an epistle from a benevolent acquaintance, oneMackintosh, regarding a group of urchins who called themselves the"Gorbals Die-Hards. " Behind the premises in Mearns Street lay a tractof slums, full of mischievous boys, with whom his staff waged trucelesswar. But lately there had started among them a kind of unauthorizedand unofficial Boy Scouts, who, without uniform or badge or any kind ofparaphernalia, followed the banner of Sir Robert Baden-Powell andsubjected themselves to a rude discipline. They were far too poor tojoin an orthodox troop, but they faithfully copied what they believedto be the practices of more fortunate boys. Mr. McCunn had witnessedtheir pathetic parades, and had even passed the time of day with theirleader, a red-haired savage called Dougal. The philanthropicMackintosh had taken an interest in the gang and now desiredsubscriptions to send them to camp in the country. 

Mr. McCunn, in his new exhilaration, felt that he could not deny toothers what he proposed for himself. His last act before leaving wasto send Mackintosh ten pounds. 

CHAPTER II

OF MR. JOHN HERITAGE AND THE DIFFERENCE IN POINTS OF VIEW

Dickson McCunn was never to forget the first stage in that pilgrimage. A little after midday he descended from a grimy third-class carriage ata little station whose name I have forgotten. In the village nearby hepurchased some new-baked buns and ginger biscuits, to which he waspartial, and followed by the shouts of urchins, who admired hispack--"Look at the auld man gaun to the schule"--he emerged into opencountry. The late April noon gleamed like a frosty morning, but theair, though tonic, was kind. The road ran over sweeps of moorlandwhere curlews wailed, and into lowland pastures dotted with very white, very vocal lambs. The young grass had the warm fragrance of new milk. As he went he munched his buns, for he had resolved to have noplethoric midday meal, and presently he found the burnside nook of hisfancy, and halted to smoke. On a patch of turf close to a grey stonebridge he had out his Walton and read the chapter on "The Chavender orChub. " The collocation of words delighted him and inspired him toverse. "Lavender or Lub"--"Pavender or Pub"-"Gravender or Grub"--butthe monosyllables proved too vulgar for poetry. Regretfully hedesisted. 

The rest of the road was as idyllic as the start. He would trampsteadily for a mile or so and then saunter, leaning over bridges towatch the trout in the pools, admiring from a dry-stone dyke theunsteady gambols of new-born lambs, kicking up dust from strips ofmoor-burn on the heather. Once by a fir-wood he was privileged tosurprise three lunatic hares waltzing. His cheeks glowed with the sun;he moved in an atmosphere of pastoral, serene and contented. When theshadows began to lengthen he arrived at the village of Cloncae, wherehe proposed to lie. The inn looked dirty, but he found a decent widow, above whose door ran the legend in home-made lettering, "Mrs. Brockietea and Coffee, " and who was willing to give him quarters. There hesupped handsomely off ham and eggs, and dipped into a work calledCovenanting Worthies, which garnished a table decorated withsea-shells. At half-past nine precisely he retired to bed andunhesitating sleep. 

Next morning he awoke to a changed world. The sky was grey and so lowthat his outlook was bounded by a cabbage garden, while a surly windprophesied rain. It was chilly, too, and he had his breakfast besidethe kitchen fire. Mrs. Brockie could not spare a capital letter forher surname on the signboard, but she exalted it in her talk. He heardof a multitude of Brockies, ascendant, descendant, and collateral, whoseemed to be in a fair way to inherit the earth. Dickson listenedsympathetically, and lingered by the fire. He felt stiff fromyesterday's exercise, and the edge was off his spirit. 

The start was not quite what he had pictured. His pack seemed heavier, his boots tighter, and his pipe drew badly. The first miles were alluphill, with a wind tingling his ears, and no colours in the landscapebut brown and grey. Suddenly he awoke to the fact that he was dismal, and thrust the notion behind him. He expanded his chest and drew inlong draughts of air. He told himself that this sharp weather wasbetter than sunshine. He remembered that all travellers in romancesbattled with mist and rain. Presently his body recovered comfort andvigour, and his mind worked itself into cheerfulness. 

He overtook a party of tramps and fell into talk with them. He hadalways had a fancy for the class, though he had never known anythingnearer it than city beggars. He pictured them as philosophicvagabonds, full of quaint turns of speech, unconscious Borrovians. Withthese samples his disillusionment was speedy. The party was made up ofa ferret-faced man with a red nose, a draggle-tailed woman, and a childin a crazy perambulator. Their conversation was one-sided, for itimmediately resolved itself into a whining chronicle of misfortunes andpetitions for relief. It cost him half a crown to be rid of them. 

The road was alive with tramps that day. The next one did theaccosting. Hailing Mr. McCunn as "Guv'nor, " he asked to be told theway to Manchester. The objective seemed so enterprising that Dicksonwas impelled to ask questions, and heard, in what appeared to be in theaccents of the Colonies, the tale of a career of unvarying calamity. There was nothing merry or philosophic about this adventurer. Nay, there was something menacing. He eyed his companion's waterproofcovetously, and declared that he had had one like it which had beenstolen from him the day before. Had the place been lonely he mighthave contemplated highway robbery, but they were at the entrance to avillage, and the sight of a public-house awoke his thirst. Dicksonparted with him at the cost of sixpence for a drink. 

He had no more company that morning except an aged stone-breaker whomhe convoyed for half a mile. The stone-breaker also was soured withthe world. He walked with a limp, which, he said, was due to anaccident years before, when he had been run into by "ane of thae damnedvelocipeeds. " The word revived in Dickson memories of his youth, andhe was prepared to be friendly. But the ancient would have none of it. He inquired morosely what he was after, and, on being told remarkedthat he might have learned more sense. "It's a daft-like thing for anauld man like you to be traivellin' the roads. Ye maun be ill-off fora job. " Questioned as to himself, he became, as the newspapers say, "reticent, " and having reached his bing of stones, turned rudely to hisduties. "Awa' hame wi' ye, " were his parting words. "It's idlescoondrels like you that maks wark for honest folk like me. "

The morning was not a success, but the strong air had given Dicksonsuch an appetite that he resolved to break his rule, and, on reachingthe little town of Kilchrist, he sought luncheon at the chief hotel. There he found that which revived his spirits. A solitary bagman sharedthe meal, who revealed the fact that he was in the grocery line. Therefollowed a well-informed and most technical conversation. He was drawnto speak of the United Supply Stores, Limited, of their prospects andof their predecessor, Mr. McCunn, whom he knew well by repute but hadnever met. "Yon's the clever one. " he observed. "I've always saidthere's no longer head in the city of Glasgow than McCunn. Anold-fashioned firm, but it has aye managed to keep up with the times. He's just retired, they tell me, and in my opinion it's a big loss tothe provision trade.... " Dickson's heart glowed within him. Here wasRomance; to be praised incognito; to enter a casual inn and find thatfame had preceded him. He warmed to the bagman, insisted on giving hima liqueur and a cigar, and finally revealed himself. "I'm DicksonMcCunn, " he said, "taking a bit holiday. If there's anything I can dofor you when I get back, just let me know. " With mutual esteem theyparted. 

He had need of all his good spirits, for he emerged into an unrelentingdrizzle. The environs of Kilchrist are at the best unlovely, and inthe wet they were as melancholy as a graveyard. But the encounter withthe bagman had worked wonders with Dickson, and he strode lustily intothe weather, his waterproof collar buttoned round his chin. The roadclimbed to a bare moor, where lagoons had formed in the ruts, and themist showed on each side only a yard or two of soaking heather. Soonhe was wet; presently every part of him--boots, body, and pack--was onevast sponge. The waterproof was not water-proof, and the rainpenetrated to his most intimate garments. Little he cared. He feltlighter, younger, than on the idyllic previous day. He enjoyed thebuffets of the storm, and one wet mile succeeded another to theaccompaniment of Dickson's shouts and laughter. There was no oneabroad that afternoon, so he could talk aloud to himself and repeat hisfavourite poems. About five in the evening there presented himself atthe Black Bull Inn at Kirkmichael a soaked, disreputable, but mostcheerful traveller. 

Now the Black Bull at Kirkmichael is one of the few very good inns leftin the world. It is an old place and an hospitable, for it has beenfor generations a haunt of anglers, who above all other men understandcomfort. There are always bright fires there, and hot water, and oldsoft leather armchairs, and an aroma of good food and good tobacco, andgiant trout in glass cases, and pictures of Captain Barclay of Uriewalking to London and Mr. Ramsay of Barnton winning a horse-race, andthe three-volume edition of the Waverley Novels with many volumesmissing, and indeed all those things which an inn should have. Alsothere used to be--there may still be--sound vintage claret in thecellars. The Black Bull expects its guests to arrive in every stage ofdishevelment, and Dickson was received by a cordial landlord, whooffered dry garments as a matter of course. The pack proved to haveresisted the elements, and a suit of clothes and slippers were providedby the house. Dickson, after a glass of toddy, wallowed in a hot bath, which washed all the stiffness out of him. He had a fire in hisbedroom, beside which he wrote the opening passages of that diary hehad vowed to keep, descanting lyrically upon the joys of ill weather. At seven o'clock, warm and satisfied in soul, and with his body clad inraiment several sizes too large for it, he descended to dinner. 

At one end of the long table in the dining-room sat a group of anglers. They looked jovial fellows, and Dickson would fain have joined them;but, having been fishing all day in the Lock o' the Threshes, they weretalking their own talk, and he feared that his admiration for IzaakWalton did not qualify him to butt into the erudite discussions offishermen. The landlord seemed to think likewise, for he drew back achair for him at the other end, where sat a young man absorbed in abook. Dickson gave him good evening, and got an abstracted reply. Theyoung man supped the Black Bull's excellent broth with one hand, andwith the other turned the pages of his volume. A glance convincedDickson that the work was French, a literature which did not interesthim. He knew little of the tongue and suspected it of impropriety. 

Another guest entered and took the chair opposite the bookish youngman. He was also young--not more than thirty-three--and to Dickson'seye was the kind of person he would have liked to resemble. He was talland free from any superfluous flesh; his face was lean, fine-drawn, anddeeply sunburnt, so that the hair above showed oddly pale; the handswere brown and beautifully shaped, but the forearm revealed by theloose cuffs of his shirt was as brawny as a blacksmith's. He hadrather pale blue eyes, which seemed to have looked much at the sun, anda small moustache the colour of ripe hay. His voice was low andpleasant, and he pronounced his words precisely, like a foreigner. 

He was very ready to talk, but in defiance of Dr. Johnson's warning, his talk was all questions. He wanted to know everything about theneighbourhood--who lived in what houses, what were the distancesbetween the towns, what harbours would admit what class of vessel. Smiling agreeably, he put Dickson through a catechism to which he knewnone of the answers. The landlord was called in, and proved morehelpful. But on one matter he was fairly at a loss. The catechistasked about a house called Darkwater, and was met with a shake of thehead. "I know no sic-like name in this countryside, sir, " and thecatechist looked disappointed. 

The literary young man said nothing, but ate trout abstractedly, oneeye on his book. The fish had been caught by the anglers in the Locho' the Threshes, and phrases describing their capture floated from theother end of the table. The young man had a second helping, and thenrefused the excellent hill mutton that followed, contenting himselfwith cheese. Not so Dickson and the catechist. They ate everythingthat was set before them, topping up with a glass of port. Then thelatter, who had been talking illuminatingly about Spain, rose, bowed, and left the table, leaving Dickson, who liked to linger over hismeals, to the society of the ichthyophagous student. 

He nodded towards the book. "Interesting?" he asked. 

The young man shook his head and displayed the name on the cover. "Anatole France. I used to be crazy about him, but now he seems rathera back number. " Then he glanced towards the just-vacated chair. "Australian, " he said. 

"How d'you know?"

"Can't mistake them. There's nothing else so lean and fine produced onthe globe to-day. I was next door to them at Pozieres and saw themfight. Lord! Such men! Now and then you had a freak, but most lookedlike Phoebus Apollo. "

Dickson gazed with a new respect at his neighbour, for he had notassociated him with battle-fields. During the war he had been afervent patriot, but, though he had never heard a shot himself, so manyof his friends' sons and nephews, not to mention cousins of his own, had seen service, that he had come to regard the experience ascommonplace. Lions in Africa and bandits in Mexico seemed to him noveland romantic things, but not trenches and airplanes which were thewhole world's property. But he could scarcely fit his neighbour intoeven his haziest picture of war. The young man was tall and a littleround-shouldered; he had short-sighted, rather prominent brown eyes, untidy black hair and dark eyebrows which came near to meeting. Hewore a knickerbocker suit of bluish-grey tweed, a pale blue shirt, apale blue collar, and a dark blue tie--a symphony of colour whichseemed too elaborately considered to be quite natural. Dickson had sethim down as an artist or a newspaper correspondent, objects to him oflively interest. But now the classification must be reconsidered. 

"So you were in the war, " he said encouragingly. 

"Four blasted years, " was the savage reply. "And I never want to hearthe name of the beastly thing again. "

"You said he was an Australian, " said Dickson, casting back. "But Ithought Australians had a queer accent, like the English. "

"They've all kind of accents, but you can never mistake their voice. It's got the sun in it. Canadians have got grinding ice in theirs, andVirginians have got butter. So have the Irish. In Britain there areno voices, only speaking-tubes. It isn't safe to judge men by theiraccent only. You yourself I take to be Scotch, but for all I know youmay be a senator from Chicago or a Boer General. "

"I'm from Glasgow. My name's Dickson McCunn. " He had a faint hopethat the announcement might affect the other as it had affected thebagman at Kilchrist. 

"Golly, what a name!" exclaimed the young man rudely. 

Dickson was nettled. "It's very old Highland, " he said. "It means theson of a dog. "

"Which--Christian name or surname?" Then the young man appeared tothink he had gone too far, for he smiled pleasantly. "And a very goodname too. Mine is prosaic by comparison. They call me John Heritage. "

"That, " said Dickson, mollified, "is like a name out of a book. Withthat name by rights you should be a poet. "

Gloom settled on the young man's countenance. "It's a dashed sight toopoetic. It's like Edwin Arnold and Alfred Austin and Dante GabrielRossetti. Great poets have vulgar monosyllables for names, like Keats. The new Shakespeare when he comes along will probably be called Grubbor Jubber, if he isn't Jones. With a name like yours I might have achance. You should be the poet. "

"I'm very fond of reading, " said Dickson modestly. 

A slow smile crumpled Mr. Heritage's face. "There's a fire in thesmoking-room, " he observed as he rose. "We'd better bag the armchairsbefore these fishing louts take them. " Dickson followed obediently. This was the kind of chance acquaintance for whom he had hoped, and hewas prepared to make the most of him. 

The fire burned bright in the little dusky smoking-room, lighted by oneoil-lamp. Mr. Heritage flung himself into a chair, stretched his longlegs, and lit a pipe. 

"You like reading?" he asked. "What sort? Any use for poetry?"

"Plenty, " said Dickson. "I've aye been fond of learning it up andrepeating it to myself when I had nothing to do. In church and waitingon trains, like. It used to be Tennyson, but now it's more Browning. I can say a lot of Browning. "

The other screwed his face into an expression of disgust. "I know thestuff. 'Damask cheeks and dewy sister eyelids. ' Or else the Erclesvein--'God's in His Heaven, all's right with the world. ' No good, Mr. McCunn. All back numbers. Poetry's not a thing of pretty roundphrases or noisy invocations. It's life itself, with the tang of theraw world in it--not a sweetmeat for middle-class women in parlours. "

"Are you a poet, Mr. Heritage?"

"No, Dogson, I'm a paper-maker. "

This was a new view to Mr. McCunn. "I just once knew a paper-maker, "he observed reflectively, "They called him Tosh. He drank a bit. "

"Well, I don't drink, " said the other. "I'm a paper-maker, but that'sfor my bread and butter. Some day for my own sake I may be a poet. "

"Have you published anything?"

The eager admiration in Dickson's tone gratified Mr. Heritage. He drewfrom his pocket a slim book. "My firstfruits, " he said, rather shyly. 

Dickson received it with reverence. It was a small volume in greypaper boards with a white label on the back, and it was lettered:WHORLS-JOHN HERITAGE'S BOOK. He turned the pages and read a little. "It's a nice wee book, " he observed at length. 

"Good God, if you call it nice, I must have failed pretty badly, " wasthe irritated answer. 

Dickson read more deeply and was puzzled. It seemed worse than theworst of Browning to understand. He found one poem about a gardenentitled "Revue. " "Crimson and resonant clangs the dawn, " said thepoet. Then he went on to describe noonday:

 "Sunflowers, tall Grenadiers, ogle the roses' short-skirted ballet. The fumes of dark sweet wine hidden in frail petals Madden the drunkard bees. "

This seemed to him an odd way to look at things, and he boggled over aphrase about an "epicene lily. " Then came evening: "The painted gauzeof the stars flutters in a fold of twilight crape, " sang Mr. Heritage;and again, "The moon's pale leprosy sloughs the fields. "

Dickson turned to other verses which apparently enshrined the writer'smemory of the trenches. They were largely compounded of oaths, andrather horrible, lingering lovingly over sights and smells which everyone is aware of, but most people contrive to forget. He did not likethem. Finally he skimmed a poem about a lady who turned into a bird. The evolution was described with intimate anatomical details whichscared the honest reader. 

He kept his eyes on the book, for he did not know what to say. Thetrick seemed to be to describe nature in metaphors mostly drawn frommusic-halls and haberdashers' shops, and, when at a loss, to fall tocursing. He thought it frankly very bad, and he laboured to find wordswhich would combine politeness and honesty. 

"Well?" said the poet. 

"There's a lot of fine things here, but--but the lines don't just seemto scan very well. "

Mr. Heritage laughed. "Now I can place you exactly. You like the meekrhyme and the conventional epithet. Well, I don't. The world haspassed beyond that prettiness. You want the moon described as aHuntress or a gold disc or a flower--I say it's oftener like a beerbarrel or a cheese. You want a wealth of jolly words and real thingsruled out as unfit for poetry. I say there's nothing unfit for poetry. Nothing, Dogson! Poetry's everywhere, and the real thing is commoneramong drabs and pot-houses and rubbish-heaps than in your Sundayparlours. The poet's business is to distil it out of rottenness, andshow that it is all one spirit, the thing that keeps the stars in theirplace.... I wanted to call my book 'Drains, ' for drains are sheerpoetry carrying off the excess and discards of human life to make thefields green and the corn ripen. But the publishers kicked. So Icalled it 'Whorls, ' to express my view of the exquisite involution ofall things. Poetry is the fourth dimension of the soul.... Well, let'shear about your taste in prose. "

Mr. McCunn was much bewildered, and a little inclined to be cross. Hedisliked being called Dogson, which seemed to him an abuse of hisetymological confidences. But his habit of politeness held. 

He explained rather haltingly his preferences in prose. 

Mr. Heritage listened with wrinkled brows. 

"You're even deeper in the mud than I thought, " he remarked. "You livein a world of painted laths and shadows. All this passion for thepicturesque! Trash, my dear man, like a schoolgirl's novelette heroes. You make up romances about gipsies and sailors, and the blackguardsthey call pioneers, but you know nothing about them. If you did, youwould find they had none of the gilt and gloss you imagine. But thegreat things they have got in common with all humanity you ignore. It's like--it's like sentimentalising about a pancake because it lookedlike a buttercup, and all the while not knowing that it was good toeat. "

At that moment the Australian entered the room to get a light for hispipe. He wore a motor-cyclist's overalls and appeared to be about totake the road. He bade them good night, and it seemed to Dickson thathis face, seen in the glow of the fire, was drawn and anxious, unlikethat of the agreeable companion at dinner. 

"There, " said Mr. Heritage, nodding after the departing figure. "I daresay you have been telling yourself stories about that chap--life in thebush, stockriding and the rest of it. But probably he's a bank-clerkfrom Melbourne.... Your romanticism is one vast self-delusion, and itblinds your eye to the real thing. We have got to clear it out, andwith it all the damnable humbug of the Kelt. "

Mr. McCunn, who spelt the word with a soft "C, " was puzzled. "I thoughta kelt was a kind of a no-weel fish, " he interposed. 

But the other, in the flood-tide of his argument, ignored theinterruption. "That's the value of the war, " he went on. "It has burstup all the old conventions, and we've got to finish the destructionbefore we can build. It is the same with literature and religion, andsociety and politics. At them with the axe, say I. I have no use forpriests and pedants. I've no use for upper classes and middle classes. There's only one class that matters, the plain man, the workers, wholive close to life. "

"The place for you, " said Dickson dryly, "is in Russia among theBolsheviks. "

Mr. Heritage approved. "They are doing a great work in their ownfashion. We needn't imitate all their methods--they're a trifle crudeand have too many Jews among them--but they've got hold of the rightend of the stick. They seek truth and reality. "

Mr. McCunn was slowly being roused. 

"What brings you wandering hereaways?" he asked. 

"Exercise, " was the answer. "I've been kept pretty closely tied up allwinter. And I want leisure and quiet to think over things. "

"Well, there's one subject you might turn your attention to. You'llhave been educated like a gentleman?"

"Nine wasted years--five at Harrow, four at Cambridge. "

"See here, then. You're daft about the working-class and have no usefor any other. But what in the name of goodness do you know aboutworking-men?... I come out of them myself, and have lived next door tothem all my days. Take them one way and another, they're a decentsort, good and bad like the rest of us. But there's a wheen daft folkthat would set them up as models--close to truth and reality, says you. It's sheer ignorance, for you're about as well acquaint with theworking-man as with King Solomon. You say I make up fine stories abouttinklers and sailor-men because I know nothing about them. That'smaybe true. But you're at the same job yourself. You ideelise theworking man, you and your kind, because you're ignorant. You say thathe's seeking for truth, when he's only looking for a drink and a risein wages. You tell me he's near reality, but I tell you that hisnotion of reality is often just a short working day and looking on at afootba'-match on Saturday.... And when you run down what you call themiddle-classes that do three-quarters of the world's work and keep themachine going and the working-man in a job, then I tell you you'retalking havers. Havers!"

Mr. McCunn, having delivered his defence of the bourgeoisie, roseabruptly and went to bed. He felt jarred and irritated. His innocentlittle private domain had been badly trampled by this stray bull of apoet. But as he lay in bed, before blowing out his candle, he hadrecourse to Walton, and found a passage on which, as on a pillow, hewent peacefully to sleep:

"As I left this place, and entered into the next field, a secondpleasure entertained me; 'twas a handsome milkmaid, that had not yetattained so much age and wisdom as to load her mind with any fears ofmany things that will never be, as too many men too often do; but shecast away all care, and sang like a nightingale; her voice was good, and the ditty fitted for it; it was the smooth song that was made byKit Marlow now at least fifty years ago. And the milkmaid's mothersung an answer to it, which was made by Sir Walter Raleigh in hisyounger days. They were old-fashioned poetry, but choicely good; Ithink much better than the strong lines that are now in fashion in thiscritical age. "

CHAPTER III

HOW CHILDE ROLAND AND ANOTHER CAME TO THE DARK TOWER

Dickson woke with a vague sense of irritation. As his recollectionstook form they produced a very unpleasant picture of Mr. John Heritage. The poet had loosened all his placid idols, so that they shook andrattled in the niches where they had been erstwhile so secure. Mr. McCunn had a mind of a singular candour, and was prepared most honestlyat all times to revise his views. But by this iconoclast he had beenonly irritated and in no way convinced. "Sich poetry!" he muttered tohimself as he shivered in his bath (a daily cold tub instead of hiscustomary hot one on Saturday night being part of the discipline of hisholiday). "And yon blethers about the working-man!" he ingeminated ashe shaved. He breakfasted alone, having outstripped even thefishermen, and as he ate he arrived at conclusions. He had a greatrespect for youth, but a line must be drawn somewhere. "The man's achild, " he decided, "and not like to grow up. The way he's besotted oneverything daftlike, if it's only new. And he's no rightly youngeither--speaks like an auld dominie, whiles. And he's rather impident, "he concluded, with memories of "Dogson. ".... He was very clear that henever wanted to see him again; that was the reason of his earlybreakfast. Having clarified his mind by definitions, Dickson feltcomforted. He paid his bill, took an affectionate farewell of thelandlord, and at 7. 30 precisely stepped out into the gleaming morning. 

It was such a day as only a Scots April can show. The cobbled streetsof Kirkmichael still shone with the night's rain, but the storm cloudshad fled before a mild south wind, and the whole circumference of thesky was a delicate translucent blue. Homely breakfast smells came fromthe houses and delighted Mr. McCunn's nostrils; a squalling child was apleasant reminder of an awakening world, the urban counterpart to themorning song of birds; even the sanitary cart seemed a picturesquevehicle. He bought his ration of buns and ginger biscuits at a baker'sshop whence various ragamuffin boys were preparing to distribute thehouseholders' bread, and took his way up the Gallows Hill to the BurghMuir almost with regret at leaving so pleasant a habitation. 

A chronicle of ripe vintages must pass lightly over small beer. I willnot dwell on his leisurely progress in the bright weather, or on hisluncheon in a coppice of young firs, or on his thoughts which hadreturned to the idyllic. I take up the narrative at about threeo'clock in the afternoon, when he is revealed seated on a milestoneexamining his map. For he had come, all unwitting, to a turning of theways, and his choice is the cause of this veracious history. 

The place was high up on a bare moor, which showed a white lodge amongpines, a white cottage in a green nook by a burnside, and no othermarks of human dwelling. To his left, which was the east, the heatherrose to a low ridge of hill, much scarred with peat-bogs, behind whichappeared the blue shoulder of a considerable mountain. Before him theroad was lost momentarily in the woods of a shooting-box, butreappeared at a great distance climbing a swell of upland which seemedto be the glacis of a jumble of bold summits. There was a pass there, the map told him, which led into Galloway. It was the road he hadmeant to follow, but as he sat on the milestone his purpose wavered. For there seemed greater attractions in the country which lay to thewestward. Mr. McCunn, be it remembered, was not in search of brownheath and shaggy wood; he wanted greenery and the Spring. 

Westward there ran out a peninsula in the shape of an isoscelestriangle, of which his present high-road was the base. At a distanceof a mile or so a railway ran parallel to the road, and he could seethe smoke of a goods train waiting at a tiny station islanded in acresof bog. Thence the moor swept down to meadows and scattered copses, above which hung a thin haze of smoke which betokened a village. Beyond it were further woodlands, not firs but old shady trees, and asthey narrowed to a point the gleam of two tiny estuaries appeared oneither side. He could not see the final cape, but he saw the seabeyond it, flawed with catspaws, gold in the afternoon sun, and on it asmall herring smack flopping listless sails. 

Something in the view caught and held his fancy. He conned his map, and made out the names. The peninsula was called the Cruives--an oldname apparently, for it was in antique lettering. He vaguelyremembered that "cruives" had something to do with fishing, doubtlessin the two streams which flanked it. One he had already crossed, theLaver, a clear tumbling water springing from green hills; the other, the Garple, descended from the rougher mountains to the south. Thehidden village bore the name of Dalquharter, and the uncouth syllablesawoke some vague recollection in his mind. The great house in the treesbeyond--it must be a great house, for the map showed largepolicies--was Huntingtower. 

The last name fascinated and almost decided him. He pictured anancient keep by the sea, defended by converging rivers, which some oldComyn lord of Galloway had built to command the shore road, and fromwhich he had sallied to hunt in his wild hills.... He liked the way themoor dropped down to green meadows, and the mystery of the dark woodsbeyond. He wanted to explore the twin waters, and see how they enteredthat strange shimmering sea. The odd names, the odd cul-de-sac of apeninsula, powerfully attracted him. Why should he not spend a nightthere, for the map showed clearly that Dalquharter had an inn? He mustdecide promptly, for before him a side-road left the highway, and thesignpost bore the legend, "Dalquharter and Huntingtower. "

Mr. McCunn, being a cautious and pious man, took the omens. He tossed apenny--heads go on, tails turn aside. It fell tails. 

He knew as soon as he had taken three steps down the side-road that hewas doing something momentous, and the exhilaration of enterprise stoleinto his soul. It occurred to him that this was the kind of landscapethat he had always especially hankered after, and had made pictures ofwhen he had a longing for the country on him--a wooded cape betweenstreams, with meadows inland and then a long lift of heather. He hadthe same feeling of expectancy, of something most interesting andcurious on the eve of happening, that he had had long ago when hewaited on the curtain rising at his first play. His spirits soaredlike the lark, and he took to singing. If only the inn at Dalquharterwere snug and empty, this was going to be a day in ten thousand. Thusmirthfully he swung down the rough grass-grown road, past the railway, till he came to a point where heath began to merge in pasture, anddry-stone walls split the moor into fields. Suddenly his paceslackened and song died on his lips. For, approaching from the rightby a tributary path was the Poet. 

Mr. Heritage saw him afar off and waved a friendly hand. In spite ofhis chagrin Dickson could not but confess that he had misjudged hiscritic. Striding with long steps over the heather, his jacket open tothe wind, his face a-glow and his capless head like a whin-bush fordisorder, he cut a more wholesome figure than in the smoking-room thenight before. He seemed to be in a companionable mood, for hebrandished his stick and shouted greetings. 

"Well met!" he cried; "I was hoping to fall in with you again. You musthave thought me a pretty fair cub last night. "

"I did that, " was the dry answer. 

"Well, I want to apologize. God knows what made me treat you to auniversity-extension lecture. I may not agree with you, but everyman's entitled to his own views, and it was dashed poor form for me tostart jawing you. "

Mr. McCunn had no gift of nursing anger, and was very susceptible toapologies. 

"That's all right, " he murmured. "Don't mention it. I'm wondering whatbrought you down here, for it's off the road. "

"Caprice. Pure caprice. I liked the look of this butt-end of nowhere. "

"Same here. I've aye thought there was something terrible nice about awee cape with a village at the neck of it and a burn each side. "

"Now that's interesting, " said Mr. Heritage. "You're obsessed by aparticular type of landscape. Ever read Freud?"

Dickson shook his head. 

"Well, you've got an odd complex somewhere. I wonder where the keylies. Cape--woods--two rivers--moor behind. Ever been in love, Dogson?"

Mr. McCunn was startled. "Love" was a word rarely mentioned in hiscircle except on death-beds, "I've been a married man for thirtyyears, " he said hurriedly. 

"That won't do. It should have been a hopeless affair-the last sightof the lady on a spur of coast with water on three sides--that kind ofthing, you know, or it might have happened to an ancestor.... But youdon't look the kind of breed for hopeless attachments. More likely somescoundrelly old Dogson long ago found sanctuary in this sort of place. Do you dream about it?"

"Not exactly. "

"Well, I do. The queer thing is that I've got the same prepossessionas you. As soon as I spotted this Cruives place on the map thismorning, I saw it was what I was after. When I came in sight of it Ialmost shouted. I don't very often dream but when I do that's theplace I frequent. Odd, isn't it?"

Mr. McCunn was deeply interested at this unexpected revelation ofromance. "Maybe it's being in love, " he daringly observed. 

The Poet demurred. "No. I'm not a connoisseur of obvious sentiment. That explanation might fit your case, but not mine. I'm pretty certainthere's something hideous at the back of MY complex--some grim oldbusiness tucked away back in the ages. For though I'm attracted by theplace, I'm frightened too!"

There seemed no room for fear in the delicate landscape now openingbefore them. In front, in groves of birch and rowan, smoked the firsthouses of a tiny village. The road had become a green "loaning, " onthe ample margin of which cattle grazed. The moorland still showeditself in spits of heather, and some distance off, where a rivulet ranin a hollow, there were signs of a fire and figures near it. These lastMr. Heritage regarded with disapproval. 

"Some infernal trippers!" he murmured. "Or Boy Scouts. They desecrateeverything. Why can't the TUNICATUS POPELLUS keep away from a paradiselike this!" Dickson, a democrat who felt nothing incongruous in thepresence of other holiday-makers, was meditating a sharp rejoinder, when Mr. Heritage's tone changed. 

"Ye gods! What a village!" he cried, as they turned a corner. Therewere not more than a dozen whitewashed houses, all set in littlegardens of wallflower and daffodil and early fruit blossom. A triangleof green filled the intervening space, and in it stood an ancientwooden pump. There was no schoolhouse or kirk; not even apost-office--only a red box in a cottage side. Beyond rose the highwall and the dark trees of the demesne, and to the right up a by-roadwhich clung to the park edge stood a two-storeyed building which borethe legend "The Cruives Inn. "

The Poet became lyrical. "At last!" he cried. "The village of mydreams! Not a sign of commerce! No church or school or beastlyrecreation hall! Nothing but these divine little cottages and anancient pub! Dogson, I warn you, I'm going to have the devil of atea. " And he declaimed:

 "Thou shalt hear a song After a while which Gods may listen to; But place the flask upon the board and wait Until the stranger hath allayed his thirst, For poets, grasshoppers, and nightingales Sing cheerily but when the throat is moist. "

Dickson, too, longed with sensual gusto for tea. But, as they drewnearer, the inn lost its hospitable look. The cobbles of the yard wereweedy, as if rarely visited by traffic, a pane in a window was broken, and the blinds hung tattered. The garden was a wilderness, and thedoorstep had not been scoured for weeks. But the place had a landlord, for he had seen them approach and was waiting at the door to meet them. 

He was a big man in his shirt sleeves, wearing old riding breechesunbuttoned at the knees, and thick ploughman's boots. He had noleggings, and his fleshy calves were imperfectly covered with woollensocks. His face was large and pale, his neck bulged, and he had agross unshaven jowl. He was a type familiar to students of society;not the innkeeper, which is a thing consistent with good breeding andall the refinements; a type not unknown in the House of Lords, especially among recent creations, common enough in the House ofCommons and the City of London, and by no means infrequent in thegoverning circles of Labour; the type known to the discerning as theLicensed Victualler. 

His face was wrinkled in official smiles, and he gave the travellers ahearty good afternoon. 

"Can we stop here for the night?" Dickson asked. 

The landlord looked sharply at him, and then replied to Mr. Heritage. His expression passed from official bonhomie to official contrition. 

"Impossible, gentlemen. Quite impossible.... Ye couldn't have come ata worse time. I've only been here a fortnight myself, and we haven'tgot right shaken down yet. Even then I might have made shift to dowith ye, but the fact is we've illness in the house, and I'm fair at mywits' end. It breaks my heart to turn gentlemen away and me that keento get the business started. But there it is!" He spat vigorously asif to emphasize the desperation of his quandary. 

The man was clearly Scots, but his native speech was overlaid withsomething alien, something which might have been acquired in America orin going down to the sea in ships. He hitched his breeches, too, witha nautical air. 

"Is there nowhere else we can put up?" Dickson asked. 

"Not in this one-horse place. Just a wheen auld wives that packedthegether they haven't room for an extra hen. But it's grand weather, and it's not above seven miles to Auchenlochan. Say the word and I'llyoke the horse and drive ye there. "

"Thank you. We prefer to walk, " said Mr. Heritage. Dickson wouldhave tarried to inquire after the illness in the house, but hiscompanion hurried him off. Once he looked back, and saw the landlordstill on the doorstep gazing after them. 

"That fellow's a swine, " said Mr. Heritage sourly. "I wouldn't trustmy neck in his pot-house. Now, Dogson, I'm hanged if I'm going toleave this place. We'll find a corner in the village somehow. Besides, I'm determined on tea. "

The little street slept in the clear pure light of an early Aprilevening. Blue shadows lay on the white road, and a delicate aroma ofcooking tantalized hungry nostrils. The near meadows shone like palegold against the dark lift of the moor. A light wind had begun to blowfrom the west and carried the faintest tang of salt. The village atthat hour was pure Paradise, and Dickson was of the Poet's opinion. Atall costs they must spend the night there. 

They selected a cottage whiter and neater than the others, which stoodat a corner, where a narrow lane turned southward. Its thatched roofhad been lately repaired, and starched curtains of a dazzling whitenessdecorated the small, closely-shut windows. Likewise it had a greendoor and a polished brass knocker. 

Tacitly the duty of envoy was entrusted to Mr. McCunn. Leaving theother at the gate, he advanced up the little path lined with quartzstones, and politely but firmly dropped the brass knocker. He musthave been observed, for ere the noise had ceased the door opened, andan elderly woman stood before him. She had a sharply-cut face, therudiments of a beard, big spectacles on her nose, and an old-fashionedlace cap on her smooth white hair. A little grim she looked at firstsight, because of her thin lips and roman nose, but her mild curiouseyes corrected the impression and gave the envoy confidence. 

"Good afternoon, mistress, " he said, broadening his voice to somethingmore rustical than his normal Glasgow speech. "Me and my friend arepaying our first visit here, and we're terrible taken up with theplace. We would like to bide the night, but the inn is no' takingfolk. Is there any chance, think you, of a bed here?"

"I'll no tell ye a lee, " said the woman. "There's twae guid beds inthe loft. But I dinna tak' lodgers and I dinna want to be bothered wi'ye. I'm an auld wumman and no' as stoot as I was. Ye'd better trydoun the street. Eppie Home micht tak' ye. "

Dickson wore his most ingratiating smile. "But, mistress, Eppie Home'shouse is no' yours. We've taken a tremendous fancy to this bit. Canyou no' manage to put up with us for the one night? We're quietauld-fashioned folk and we'll no' trouble you much. Just our tea andmaybe an egg to it, and a bowl of porridge in the morning. "

The woman seemed to relent. "Whaur's your freend?" she asked, peeringover her spectacles towards the garden gate. The waiting Mr. Heritage, seeing he eyes moving in his direction, took off his cap with a bravegesture and advanced. "Glorious weather, madam, " he declared. 

"English, " whispered Dickson to the woman, in explanation. 

She examined the Poet's neat clothes and Mr. McCunn's homely garments, and apparently found them reassuring. "Come in, " she said shortly. "Isee ye're wilfu' folk and I'll hae to dae my best for ye. "

A quarter of an hour later the two travellers, having been introducedto two spotless beds in the loft, and having washed luxuriously at thepump in the back yard, were seated in Mrs. Morran's kitchen before ameal which fulfilled their wildest dreams. She had been baking thatmorning, so there were white scones and barley scones, and oatenfarles, and russet pancakes. There were three boiled eggs for each ofthem; there was a segment of an immense currant cake ("a present frommy guid brither last Hogmanay"); there was skim milk cheese; there wereseveral kinds of jam, and there was a pot of dark-gold heather honey. "Try hinny and aitcake, " said their hostess. "My man used to say henever fund onything as guid in a' his days. "

Presently they heard her story. Her name was Morran, and she had beena widow these ten years. Of her family her son was in South Africa, one daughter a lady's-maid in London, and the other married to aschoolmaster in Kyle. The son had been in France fighting, and hadcome safely through. He had spent a month or two with her before hisreturn, and, she feared, had found it dull. "There's no' a man body inthe place. Naething but auld wives. "

That was what the innkeeper had told them. Mr. McCunn inquiredconcerning the inn. 

"There's new folk just came. What's this they ca'them?--Robson--Dobson--aye, Dobson. What far wad they no' tak' ye in?Does the man think he's a laird to refuse folk that gait?"

"He said he had illness in the house. "

Mrs. Morran meditated. "Whae in the world can be lyin' there? The manbides his lane. He got a lassie frae Auchenlochan to cook, but she andher box gaed off in the post-cairt yestreen. I doot he tell't ye alee, though it's no for me to juidge him. I've never spoken a word toane o' thae new folk. "

Dickson inquired about the "new folk. "

"They're a' now come in the last three weeks, and there's no' a man o'the auld stock left. John Blackstocks at the Wast Lodge dee'd o'pneumony last back-end, and auld Simon Tappie at the Gairdens flittedto Maybole a year come Mairtinmas. There's naebody at the Gairdensnoo, but there's a man come to the Wast Lodge, a blackavised body wi' aface like bend-leather. Tam Robison used to bide at the South Lodge, but Tam got killed about Mesopotamy, and his wife took the bairns toher guidsire up at the Garpleheid. I seen the man that's in the SouthLodge gaun up the street when I was finishin' my denner--a shilpit bodyand a lameter, but he hirples as fast as ither folk run. He's no'bonny to look at.. I canna think what the factor's ettlin' at to letsic ill-faured chiels come about the toun. "

Their hostess was rapidly rising in Dickson's esteem. She sat verystraight in her chair, eating with the careful gentility of a bird, andprimming her thin lips after every mouthful of tea. 

"Wha bides in the Big House?" he asked. "Huntingtower is the name, isn't it?"

"When I was a lassie they ca'ed it Dalquharter Hoose, and Huntingtowerwas the auld rickle o' stanes at the sea-end. But naething wad servethe last laird's father but he maun change the name, for he was cleandaft about what they ca' antickities. Ye speir whae bides in the Hoose?Naebody, since the young laird dee'd. It's standin' cauld and lanelyand steikit, and it aince the cheeriest dwallin' in a' Carrick. "

Mrs. Morran's tone grew tragic. "It's a queer warld wi'out the auldgentry. My faither and my guidsire and his faither afore him served theKennedys, and my man Dauvit Morran was gemkeeper to them, and afore Imairried I was ane o' the table-maids. They were kind folk, theKennedys, and, like a' the rale gentry, maist mindfu' o' them thatserved them. Sic merry nichts I've seen in the auld Hoose, atHallowe'en and Hogmanay, and at the servants' balls and the waddin's o'the young leddies! But the laird bode to waste his siller in stane andlime, and hadna that much to leave to his bairns. And now they're a'scattered or deid. "

Her grave face wore the tenderness which comes from affectionatereminiscence. 

"There was never sic a laddie as young Maister Quentin. No' a weekgaed by but he was in here, cryin', 'Phemie Morran, I've come till mytea!' Fine he likit my treacle scones, puir man. There wasna ane inthe countryside sae bauld a rider at the hunt, or sic a skeely fisher. And he was clever at his books tae, a graund scholar, they said, andettlin' at bein' what they ca' a dipplemat, But that' a' bye wi'. "

"Quentin Kennedy--the fellow in the Tins?" Heritage asked. "I saw himin Rome when he was with the Mission. "

"I dinna ken. He was a brave sodger, but he wasna long fechtin' inFrance till he got a bullet in his breist. Syne we heard tell o' himin far awa' bits like Russia; and syne cam' the end o' the war and welookit to see him back, fishin' the waters and ridin' like Jehu as inthe auld days. But wae's me! It wasna permitted. The next news wegot, the puir laddie was deid o' influenzy and buried somewhere aboutFrance. The wanchancy bullet maun have weakened his chest, nae doot. So that's the end o' the guid stock o' Kennedy o' Huntingtower, whaehae been great folk sin' the time o' Robert Bruce. And noo the Hooseis shut up till the lawyers can get somebody sae far left to himsel' asto tak' it on lease, and in thae dear days it's no' just onybody thatwants a muckle castle. "

"Who are the lawyers?" Dickson asked. 

"Glendonan and Speirs in Embro. But they never look near the place, and Maister Loudon in Auchenlochan does the factorin'. He's let thepublic an' filled the twae lodges, and he'll be thinkin' nae doot thathe's done eneuch. "

Mrs. Morran had poured some hot water into the big slop-bowl, and hadbegun the operation known as "synding out" the cups. It was a hintthat the meal was over, and Dickson and Heritage rose from the table. Followed by an injunction to be back for supper "on the chap o' nine, "they strolled out into the evening. Two hours of some sort of daylightremained, and the travellers had that impulse to activity which comesto all men who, after a day of exercise and emptiness, are stayed witha satisfying tea. 

"You should be happy, Dogson, " said the Poet. "Here we have all thematerials for your blessed romance--old mansion, extinct family, village deserted of men, and an innkeeper whom I suspect of being avillain. I feel almost a convert to your nonsense myself. We'll have alook at the House. "

They turned down the road which ran north by the park wall, past theinn, which looked more abandoned than ever, till they came to anentrance which was clearly the West Lodge. It had once been a pretty, modish cottage, with a thatched roof and dormer windows, but now it wasbadly in need of repair. A window-pane was broken and stuffed with asack, the posts of the porch were giving inwards, and the thatch wascrumbling under the attentions of a colony of starlings. The greatiron gates were rusty, and on the coat of arms above them the gildingwas patchy and tarnished. Apparently the gates were locked, and eventhe side wicket failed to open to Heritage's vigorous shaking. Insidea weedy drive disappeared among ragged rhododendrons. 

The noise brought a man to the lodge door. He was a sturdy fellow in asuit of black clothes which had not been made for him. He might havebeen a butler EN DESHABILLE, but for the presence of a pair of fieldboots into which he had tucked the ends of his trousers. The curiousthing about him was his face, which was decorated with features so tinyas to give the impression of a monstrous child. Each in itself was wellenough formed, but eyes, nose, mouth, chin were of a smallnesscuriously out of proportion to the head and body. Such an anomaly mighthave been redeemed by the expression; good-humour would have investedit with an air of agreeable farce. But there was no friendliness in theman's face. It was set like a judge's in a stony impassiveness. 

"May we walk up to the House?" Heritage asked. "We are here for anight and should like to have a look at it. "

The man advanced a step. He had either a bad cold, or a voicecomparable in size to his features. 

"There's no entrance here, " he said huskily. "I have strict orders. "

"Oh, come now, " said Heritage. "It can do nobody any harm if you letus in for half an hour. "

The man advanced another step. 

"You shall not come in. Go away from here. Go away, I tell you. It isprivate. " The words spoken by the small mouth in the small voice had akind of childish ferocity. 

The travellers turned their back on him and continued their way. 

"Sich a curmudgeon!" Dickson commented. His face had flushed, for hewas susceptible to rudeness. "Did you notice? That man's a foreigner. "

"He's a brute, " said Heritage. "But I'm not going to be done in bythat class of lad. There can be no gates on the sea side, so we'llwork round that way, for I won't sleep till I've seen the place. "

Presently the trees grew thinner, and the road plunged through thicketsof hazel till it came to a sudden stop in a field. There the coverceased wholly, and below them lay the glen of the Laver. Steep greenbanks descended to a stream which swept in coils of gold into the eyeof the sunset. A little farther down the channel broadened, the slopesfell back a little, and a tongue of glittering sea ran up to meet thehill waters. The Laver is a gentle stream after it leaves its cradleheights, a stream of clear pools and long bright shallows, winding bymoorland steadings and upland meadows; but in its last half-mile itgoes mad, and imitates its childhood when it tumbled over graniteshelves. Down in that green place the crystal water gushed andfrolicked as if determined on one hour of rapturous life before joiningthe sedater sea. 

Heritage flung himself on the turf. 

"This is a good place! Ye gods, what a good place! Dogson, aren't youglad you came? I think everything's bewitched to-night. That villageis bewitched, and that old woman's tea. Good white magic! And thatfoul innkeeper and that brigand at the gate. Black magic! And now hereis the home of all enchantment--'island valley of Avilion'--'watersthat listen for lovers'--all the rest of it!"

Dickson observed and marvelled. 

"I can't make you out, Mr. Heritage. You were saying last night youwere a great democrat, and yet you were objecting to yon laddiescamping on the moor. And you very near bit the neb off me when I saidI liked Tennyson. And now... " Mr. McCunn's command of language wasinadequate to describe the transformation. 

"You're a precise, pragmatical Scot, " was the answer. "Hang it, man, don't remind me that I'm inconsistent. I've a poet's licence to playthe fool, and if you don't understand me, I don't in the leastunderstand myself. All I know is that I'm feeling young and jolly, andthat it's the Spring. "

Mr. Heritage was assuredly in a strange mood. He began to whistle witha far-away look in his eye. 

"Do you know what that is?" he asked suddenly. 

Dickson, who could not detect any tune, said "No. "

"It's an aria from a Russian opera that came out just before the war. I've forgotten the name of the fellow who wrote it. Jolly thing, isn'tit? I always remind myself of it when I'm in this mood, for it islinked with the greatest experience of my life. You said, I think, that you had never been in love?"

Dickson replied in the native fashion. "Have you?" he asked. 

"I have, and I am--been for two years. I was down with my battalion onthe Italian front early in 1918, and because I could speak the languagethey hoicked me out and sent me to Rome on a liaison job. It was Eastertime and fine weather, and, being glad to get out of the trenches, Iwas pretty well pleased with myself and enjoying life.... In the placewhere I stayed there was a girl. She was a Russian, a princess of agreat family, but a refugee, and of course as poor as sin.... Iremember how badly dressed she was among all the well-to-do Romans. But, my God, what a beauty! There was never anything in the world likeher.... She was little more than a child, and she used to sing thatair in the morning as she went down the stairs.... They sent me back tothe front before I had a chance of getting to know her, but she used togive me little timid good mornings, and her voice and eyes were like anangel's.... I'm over my head in love, but it's hopeless, quitehopeless. I shall never see her again. "

"I'm sure I'm honoured by your confidence, " said Dickson reverently. 

The Poet, who seemed to draw exhilaration from the memory of hissorrows, arose and fetched him a clout on the back. "Don't talk ofconfidence, as if you were a reporter, " he said. "What about thatHouse? If we're to see it before the dark comes we'd better hustle. "

The green slopes on their left, as they ran seaward, were clothedtowards their summit with a tangle of broom and light scrub. The twoforced their way through it, and found to their surprise that on thisside there were no defences of the Huntingtower demesne. Along thecrest ran a path which had once been gravelled and trimmed. Beyond, through a thicket of laurels and rhododendrons, they came on a longunkempt aisle of grass, which seemed to be one of those side avenuesoften found in connection with old Scots dwellings. Keeping along thisthey reached a grove of beech and holly through which showed a dimshape of masonry. By a common impulse they moved stealthily, crouchingin cover, till at the far side of the wood they found a sunk fence andlooked over an acre or two of what had once been lawn and flower-bedsto the front of the mansion. 

The outline of the building was clearly silhouetted against the glowingwest, but since they were looking at the east face the detail was allin shadow. But, dim as it was, the sight was enough to give Dicksonthe surprise of his life. He had expected something old and baronial. But this was new, raw and new, not twenty years built. Some madness hadprompted its creator to set up a replica of a Tudor house in acountryside where the thing was unheard of. All the tricks werethere--oriel windows, lozenged panes, high twisted chimney stacks; thevery stone was red, as if to imitate the mellow brick of some ancientKentish manor. It was new, but it was also decaying. The creepers hadfallen from the walls, the pilasters on the terrace were tumbling down, lichen and moss were on the doorsteps. Shuttered, silent, abandoned, it stood like a harsh memento mori of human hopes. 

Dickson had never before been affected by an inanimate thing with sostrong a sense of disquiet. He had pictured an old stone tower on abright headland; he found instead this raw thing among trees. Thedecadence of the brand-new repels as something against nature, and thisnew thing was decadent. But there was a mysterious life in it, forthough not a chimney smoked, it seemed to enshrine a personality and towear a sinister aura. He felt a lively distaste, which was almostfear. He wanted to get far away from it as fast as possible. The sun, now sinking very low, sent up rays which kindled the crests of a groupof firs to the left of the front door. 

He had the absurd fancy that they were torches flaming before a bier. 

It was well that the two had moved quietly and kept in shadow. Footsteps fell on their ears, on the path which threaded the lawn justbeyond the sunk-fence. It was the keeper of the West Lodge and hecarried something on his back, but both that and his face wereindistinct in the half-light. 

Other footsteps were heard, coming from the other side of the lawn. Aman's shod feet rang on the stone of a flagged path, and from theirirregular fall it was plain that he was lame. The two men met near thedoor, and spoke together. Then they separated, and moved one down eachside of the house. To the two watchers they had the air of a patrol, or of warders pacing the corridors of a prison. 

"Let's get out of this, " said Dickson, and turned to go. 

The air had the curious stillness which precedes the moment of sunset, when the birds of day have stopped their noises and the sounds of nighthave not begun. But suddenly in the silence fell notes of music. Theyseemed to come from the house, a voice singing softly but with greatbeauty and clearness. 

Dickson halted in his steps. The tune, whatever it was, was like afresh wind to blow aside his depression. The house no longer lookedsepulchral. He saw that the two men had hurried back from their patrol, had met and exchanged some message, and made off again as if alarmed bythe music. Then he noticed his companion.... 

Heritage was on one knee with his face rapt and listening. He got tohis feet and appeared to be about to make for the House. Dickson caughthim by the arm and dragged him into the bushes, and he followedunresistingly, like a man in a dream. They ploughed through thethicket, recrossed the grass avenue, and scrambled down the hillside tothe banks of the stream. 

Then for the first time Dickson observed that his companion's face wasvery white, and that sweat stood on his temples. Heritage lay down andlapped up water like a dog. Then he turned a wild eye on the other. 

"I am going back, " he said. "That is the voice of the girl I saw inRome, and it is singing her song!"

CHAPTER IV

DOUGAL

"You'll do nothing of the kind, " said Dickson. "You're coming home toyour supper. It was to be on the chap of nine. "

"I'm going back to that place. "

The man was clearly demented and must be humoured. "Well, you mustwait till the morn's morning. It's very near dark now, and those aretwo ugly customers wandering about yonder. You'd better sleep thenight on it. "

Mr. Heritage seemed to be persuaded. He suffered himself to be led upthe now dusky slopes to the gate where the road from the village ended. He walked listlessly like a man engaged in painful reflection. Onceonly he broke the silence. 

"You heard the singing?" he asked. 

Dickson was a very poor hand at a lie. "I heard something, " headmitted. 

"You heard a girl's voice singing?"

"It sounded like that, " was the admission. "But I'm thinking it mighthave been a seagull. "

"You're a fool, " said the Poet rudely. 

The return was a melancholy business, compared to the bright speed ofthe outward journey. Dickson's mind was a chaos of feelings, all ofthem unpleasant. He had run up against something which he violently, blindly detested, and the trouble was that he could not tell why. Itwas all perfectly absurd, for why on earth should an ugly house, someovergrown trees, and a couple of ill-favoured servants so malignlyaffect him? Yet this was the fact; he had strayed out of Arcady into asphere that filled him with revolt and a nameless fear. Never in hisexperience had he felt like this, this foolish childish panic whichtook all the colour and zest out of life. He tried to laugh at himselfbut failed. Heritage, stumbling along by his side, effectually crushedhis effort to discover humour in the situation. Some exhalation fromthat infernal place had driven the Poet mad. And then that voicesinging! A seagull, he had said. More like a nightingale, hereflected--a bird which in the flesh he had never met. 

Mrs. Morran had the lamp lit and a fire burning in her cheerfulkitchen. The sight of it somewhat restored Dickson's equanimity, andto his surprise he found that he had an appetite for supper. There wasnew milk, thick with cream, and most of the dainties which had appearedat tea, supplemented by a noble dish of shimmering "potted-head. " Thehostess did not share their meal, being engaged in some duties in thelittle cubby-hole known as the back kitchen. 

Heritage drank a glass of milk but would not touch food. 

"I called this place Paradise four hours ago, " he said. "So it is, butI fancy it is next door to Hell. There is something devilish going oninside that park wall, and I mean to get to the bottom of it. "

"Hoots! Nonsense!" Dickson replied with affected cheerfulness. "To-morrow you and me will take the road for Auchenlochan. We needn'ttrouble ourselves about an ugly old house and a wheen impidentlodge-keepers. "

"To-morrow I'm going to get inside the place. Don't come unless youlike, but it's no use arguing with me. My mind is made up. "

Heritage cleared a space on the table and spread out a section of alarge-scale Ordnance map. 

"I must clear my head about the topography, the same as if this were abattle-ground. Look here, Dogson.... The road past the inn that wewent by to-night runs north and south. " He tore a page from anote-book and proceeded to make a rough sketch.... "One end we knowabuts on the Laver glen, and the other stops at the South Lodge. Insidethe wall which follows the road is a long belt of plantation--mostlybeeches and ash--then to the west a kind of park, and beyond that thelawns of the house. Strips of plantation with avenues between followthe north and south sides of the park. On the sea side of the Houseare the stables and what looks like a walled garden, and beyond themwhat seems to be open ground with an old dovecot marked, and the ruinsof Huntingtower keep. Beyond that there is more open ground, till youcome to the cliffs of the cape. Have you got that?... It looks possiblefrom the contouring to get on to the sea cliffs by following the Laver, for all that side is broken up into ravines.... But look at the otherside--the Garple glen. It's evidently a deep-cut gully, and at thebottom it opens out into a little harbour. There's deep water there, you observe. Now the House on the south side--the Garple side--isbuilt fairly close to the edge of the cliffs. Is that all clear inyour head? We can't reconnoitre unless we've got a working notion ofthe lie of the land. "

Dickson was about to protest that he had no intention of reconnoitring, when a hubbub arose in the back kitchen. Mrs. Morran's voice was heardin shrill protest. 

"Ye ill laddie! Eh--ye--ill--laddie! (crescendo) Makin' a hash o' myback door wi' your dirty feet! What are ye slinkin' roond here for, when I tell't ye this mornin' that I wad sell ye nae mair scones tillye paid for the last lot? Ye're a wheen thievin' hungry callants, andif there were a polisman in the place I'd gie ye in chairge.... What'sthat ye say? Ye're no' wantin' meat? Ye want to speak to thegentlemen that's bidin' here? Ye ken the auld ane, says you? Ibelieve it's a muckle lee, but there's the gentlemen to answer yetheirsels. "

Mrs. Morran, brandishing a dishclout dramatically, flung open the door, and with a vigorous push propelled into the kitchen a singular figure. 

It was a stunted boy, who from his face might have been fifteen yearsold, but had the stature of a child of twelve. He had a thatch offiery red hair above a pale freckled countenance. His nose was snub, his eyes a sulky grey-green, and his wide mouth disclosed large anddamaged teeth. But remarkable as was his visage, his clothing wasstill stranger. On his head was the regulation Boy Scout hat, but itwas several sizes too big, and was squashed down upon his immense redears. He wore a very ancient khaki shirt, which had once belonged to afull-grown soldier, and the spacious sleeves were rolled up at theshoulders and tied with string, revealing a pair of skinny arms. Roundhis middle hung what was meant to be a kilt--a kilt of homemanufacture, which may once have been a tablecloth, for its boldpattern suggested no known clan tartan. He had a massive belt, inwhich was stuck a broken gully-knife, and round his neck was knottedthe remnant of what had once been a silk bandanna. His legs and feetwere bare, blue, scratched, and very dirty, and this toes had theprehensile look common to monkeys and small boys who summer and wintergo bootless. In his hand was a long ash-pole, new cut from some coppice. 

The apparition stood glum and lowering on the kitchen floor. As Dicksonstared at it he recalled Mearns Street and the band of irregular BoyScouts who paraded to the roll of tin cans. Before him stood Dougal, Chieftain of the Gorbals Die-Hards. Suddenly he remembered thephilanthropic Mackintosh, and his own subscription of ten pounds to thecamp fund. It pleased him to find the rascals here, for in theunpleasant affairs on the verge of which he felt himself they were acomforting reminder of the peace of home. 

"I'm glad to see you, Dougal, " he said pleasantly. "How are you allgetting on?" And then, with a vague reminiscence of the Scouts'code--"Have you been minding to perform a good deed every day?"

The Chieftain's brow darkened. 

"'Good Deeds!'" he repeated bitterly. "I tell ye I'm fair wore out wi'good deeds. Yon man Mackintosh tell't me this was going to be a grandholiday. Holiday! Govey Dick! It's been like a Setterday night inMain Street--a' fechtin', fechtin'. "

No collocation of letters could reproduce Dougal's accent, and I willnot attempt it. There was a touch of Irish in it, a spice ofmusic-hall patter, as well as the odd lilt of the Glasgow vernacular. He was strong in vowels, but the consonants, especially the letter "t, "were only aspirations. 

"Sit down and let's hear about things, " said Dickson. 

The boy turned his head to the still open back door, where Mrs. Morrancould be heard at her labours. He stepped across and shut it. "I'm no'wantin' that auld wife to hear, " he said. Then he squatted down on thepatchwork rug by the hearth, and warmed his blue-black shins. Lookinginto the glow of the fire, he observed, "I seen you two up by the BigHoose the night. "

"The devil you did, " said Heritage, roused to a sudden attention. "Andwhere were you?"

"Seven feet from your head, up a tree. It's my chief hidy-hole, andGosh! I need one, for Lean's after me wi' a gun. He had a shot at metwo days syne. "

Dickson exclaimed, and Dougal with morose pride showed a rent in hiskilt. "If I had had on breeks, he'd ha' got me. "

"Who's Lean?" Heritage asked. 

"The man wi' the black coat. The other--the lame one--they ca'Spittal. "

"How d'you know?"

"I've listened to them crackin' thegither. "

"But what for did the man want to shoot at you?" asked the scandalizedDickson. 

"What for? Because they're frightened to death o' onybody going neartheir auld Hoose. They're a pair of deevils, worse nor any Red Indian, but for a' that they're sweatin' wi' fright. What for? says you. Because they're hiding a Secret. I knew it as soon as I seen the manLean's face. I once seen the same kind o' scoondrel at the Picters. When he opened his mouth to swear, I kenned he was a foreigner, likethe lads down at the Broomielaw. That looked black, but I hadn't gotat the worst of it. Then he loosed off at me wi' his gun. "

"Were you not feared?" said Dickson. 

"Ay, I was feared. But ye'll no' choke off the Gorbals Die-Hards wi' agun. We held a meetin' round the camp fire, and we resolved to get tothe bottom o' the business. Me bein' their Chief, it was my duty tomake what they ca' a reckonissince, for that was the dangerous job. Soa' this day I've been going on my belly about thae policies. I'vefound out some queer things. "

Heritage had risen and was staring down at the small squatting figure. 

"What have you found out? Quick. Tell me at once. " His voice wassharp and excited. 

"Bide a wee, " said the unwinking Dougal. "I'm no' going to let ye intothis business till I ken that ye'll help. It's a far bigger job than Ithought. There's more in it than Lean and Spittal. There's the big manthat keeps the public--Dobson, they ca' him. He's a Namerican, whichlooks bad. And there's two-three tinklers campin' down in the GarpleDean. They're in it, for Dobson was colloguin' wi' them a' mornin'. When I seen ye, I thought ye were more o' the gang, till I mindit thatone o' ye was auld McCunn that has the shop in Mearns Street. I seenthat ye didna' like the look o' Lean, and I followed ye here, for I wasthinkin' I needit help. "

Heritage plucked Dougal by the shoulder and lifted him to his feet. 

"For God's sake, boy, " he cried, "tell us what you know!"

"Will ye help?"

"Of course, you little fool. "

"Then swear, " said the ritualist. From a grimy wallet he extracted alimp little volume which proved to be a damaged copy of a work entitledSacred Songs and Solos. "Here! Take that in your right hand and putyour left hand on my pole, and say after me. 'I swear no' to blab whatis telled me in secret, and to be swift and sure in obeyin' orders, s'help me God!' Syne kiss the bookie. "

Dickson at first refused, declaring that it was all havers, butHeritage's docility persuaded him to follow suit. The two were sworn. 

"Now, " said Heritage. 

Dougal squatted again on the hearth-rug, and gathered the eyes of hisaudience. He was enjoying himself. 

"This day, " he said slowly, "I got inside the Hoose. "

"Stout fellow, " said Heritage; "and what did you find there?"

"I got inside that Hoose, but it wasn't once or twice I tried. I founda corner where I was out o' sight o' anybody unless they had come thereseekin' me, and I sklimmed up a rone pipe, but a' the windies werelockit and I verra near broke my neck. Syne I tried the roof, and asore sklim I had, but when I got there there were no skylights. At theend I got in by the coal-hole. That's why ye're maybe thinkin' I'm no'very clean. "

Heritage's patience was nearly exhausted. 

"I don't want to hear how you got in. What did you find, you littledevil?"

"Inside the Hoose, " said Dougal slowly (and there was a melancholysense of anti-climax in his voice, as of one who had hoped to speak ofgold and jewels and armed men)--"inside that Hoose there's nothing buttwo women. "

Heritage sat down before him with a stern face. 

"Describe them, " he commanded. 

"One o' them is dead auld, as auld as the wife here. She didn't lookto me very right in the head. "

"And the other?"

"Oh, just a lassie. "

"What was she like?"

Dougal seemed to be searching for adequate words. "She is... " hebegan. Then a popular song gave him inspiration. "She's pure as thelully in the dell!"

In no way discomposed by Heritage's fierce interrogatory air, hecontinued: "She's either foreign or English, for she couldn'tunderstand what I said, and I could make nothing o' her clippit tongue. But I could see she had been greetin'. She looked feared, yet kind o'determined. I speired if I could do anything for her, and when she gotmy meaning she was terrible anxious to ken if I had seen a man--a bigman, she said, wi' a yellow beard. She didn't seem to ken his name, orelse she wouldna' tell me. The auld wife was mortal feared, and wasaye speakin' in a foreign langwidge. I seen at once that whatfrightened them was Lean and his friends, and I was just starting tospeir about them when there came a sound like a man walkin' along thepassage. She was for hidin' me in behind a sofy, but I wasn't going tobe trapped like that, so I got out by the other door and down thekitchen stairs and into the coal-hole. Gosh, it was a near thing!"

The boy was on his feet. "I must be off to the camp to give out theorders for the morn. I'm going back to that Hoose, for it's a fightatween the Gorbals Die-Hards and the scoondrels that are frightenin'thae women. The question is, Are ye comin' with me? Mind, ye'vesworn. But if ye're no, I'm going mysel', though I'll no' deny I'd beglad o' company. You anyway--" he added, nodding at Heritage. "Maybeauld McCunn wouldn't get through the coal-hole. "

"You're an impident laddie, " said the outraged Dickson. "It's no'likely we're coming with you. Breaking into other folks' houses! It'sa job for the police!"

"Please yersel', " said the Chieftain, and looked at Heritage. 

"I'm on, " said that gentleman. 

"Well, just you set out the morn as if ye were for a walk up the Garpleglen. I'll be on the road and I'll have orders for ye. "

Without more ado Dougal left by way of the back kitchen. There was abrief denunciation from Mrs. Morran, then the outer door banged and hewas gone. 

The Poet sat still with his head in his hands, while Dickson, acutelyuneasy, prowled about the floor. He had forgotten even to light hispipe. "You'll not be thinking of heeding that ragamuffin boy, " heventured. 

"I'm certainly going to get into the House tomorrow, " Heritageanswered, "and if he can show me a way so much the better. He's aspirited youth. Do you breed many like him in Glasgow?"

"Plenty, " said Dickson sourly. "See here, Mr. Heritage. You can'texpect me to be going about burgling houses on the word of a blagyirdladdie. I'm a respectable man--aye been. Besides, I'm here for aholiday, and I've no call to be mixing myself up in strangers' affairs. "

"You haven't. Only you see, I think there's a friend of mine in thatplace, and anyhow there are women in trouble. If you like, we'll saygoodbye after breakfast, and you can continue as if you had neverturned aside to this damned peninsula. But I've got to stay. "

Dickson groaned. What had become of his dream of idylls, his gentlebookish romance? Vanished before a reality which smacked horribly ofcrude melodrama and possibly of sordid crime. His gorge rose at thepicture, but a thought troubled him. Perhaps all romance in its hourof happening was rough and ugly like this, and only shone rosy inretrospect. Was he being false to his deepest faith?

"Let's have Mrs. Morran in, " he ventured. "She's a wise old body andI'd like to hear her opinion of this business. We'll get common sensefrom her. "

"I don't object, " said Heritage. "But no amount of common sense willchange my mind. "

Their hostess forestalled them by returning at that moment to thekitchen. 

"We want your advice, mistress, " Dickson told her, and accordingly, like a barrister with a client, she seated herself carefully in the bigeasy chair, found and adjusted her spectacles, and waited with handsfolded on her lap to hear the business. Dickson narrated theirpre-supper doings, and gave a sketch of Dougal's evidence. Hisexposition was cautious and colourless, and without conviction. Heseemed to expect a robust incredulity in his hearer. 

Mrs. Morran listened with the gravity of one in church. When Dicksonfinished she seemed to meditate. "There's no blagyird trick that wouldsurprise me in thae new folk. What's that ye ca' them--Lean andSpittal? Eppie Home threepit to me they were furriners, and these areno furrin names. "

"What I want to hear from you, Mrs. Morran, " said Dickson impressively, "is whether you think there's anything in that boy's story?"

"I think it's maist likely true. He's a terrible impident callant, buthe's no' a leear. "

"Then you think that a gang of ruffians have got two lone women shut upin that house for their own purposes?"

"I wadna wonder. "

"But it's ridiculous! This is a Christian and law-abiding country. What would the police say?"

"They never troubled Dalquharter muckle. There's no' a polisman nearerthan Knockraw--yin Johnnie Trummle, and he's as useless as a frostittattie. "

"The wiselike thing, as I think, " said Dickson, "would be to turn theProcurator-Fiscal on to the job. It's his business, no' ours. "

"Well, I wadna say but ye're richt, ' said the lady. 

"What would you do if you were us?" Dickson's tone was subtlyconfidential. "My friend here wants to get into the House the mornwith that red-haired laddie to satisfy himself about the facts. I sayno. Let sleeping dogs lie, I say, and if you think the beasts are mad, report to the authorities. What would you do yourself?"

"If I were you, " came the emphatic reply, "I would tak' the first trainhame the morn, and when I got hame I wad bide there. Ye're a dacentbody, but ye're no' the kind to be traivellin' the roads. "

"And if you were me?' Heritage asked with his queer crooked smile. 

"If I was young and yauld like you I wad gang into the Hoose, and Iwadna rest till I had riddled oot the truith and jyled every scoondrelabout the place. If ye dinna gang, 'faith I'll kilt my coats and gangmysel'. I havena served the Kennedys for forty year no' to hae thehonour o' the Hoose at my hert.... Ye've speired my advice, sirs, andye've gotten it. Now I maun clear awa' your supper. "

Dickson asked for a candle, and, as on the previous night, wentabruptly to bed. The oracle of prudence to which he had appealed hadbetrayed him and counselled folly. But was it folly? For him, assuredly, for Dickson McCunn, late of Mearns Street, Glasgow, wholesale and retail provision merchant, elder in the Guthrie MemorialKirk, and fifty-five years of age. Ay, that was the rub. He wasgetting old. The woman had seen it and had advised him to go home. Yet the plea was curiously irksome, though it gave him the excuse heneeded. If you played at being young, you had to take up theobligations of youth, and he thought derisively of his boyishexhilaration of the past days. Derisively, but also sadly. What hadbecome of that innocent joviality he had dreamed of, that happy morningpilgrimage of Spring enlivened by tags from the poets? His goddess hadplayed him false. Romance had put upon him too hard a trial. 

He lay long awake, torn between common sense and a desire to be loyalto some vague whimsical standard. Heritage a yard distant appearedalso to be sleepless, for the bed creaked with his turning. Dicksonfound himself envying one whose troubles, whatever they might be, werenot those of a divided mind. 

CHAPTER V

OF THE PRINCESS IN THE TOWER

Very early the next morning, while Mrs. Morran was still cookingbreakfast, Dickson and Heritage might have been observed taking the airin the village street. It was the Poet who had insisted upon thiswalk, and he had his own purpose. They looked at the spires of smokepiercing the windless air, and studied the daffodils in the cottagegardens. Dickson was glum, but Heritage seemed in high spirits. Hevaried his garrulity with spells of cheerful whistling. 

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

"Good morning, " said the poet. "I hope the sickness in your house ison the mend?"

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

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

"So I see. Whereabouts, may I ask?"

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

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

The man turned on Heritage. 

"Where are ye for the day?"

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm not coming with you. "

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

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

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

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

Half an hour later there was a furious dissension when Dicksonattempted to pay for the night's entertainment. Mrs. Morran would havenone of it. "Ye're no' awa' yet, " she said tartly, and the matter wascomplicated by Heritage's refusal to take part in the debate. He stoodaside and grinned, till Dickson in despair returned his notecase to hispocket, murmuring darkly the "he would send it from Glasgow. "

The road to Auchenlochan left the main village street at right anglesby the side of Mrs. Morran's cottage. It was a better road than thatby which they had come yesterday, for by it twice daily the postcarttravelled to the post-town. It ran on the edge of the moor and on thelip of the Garple glen, till it crossed that stream and, keeping nearthe coast, emerged after five miles into the cultivated flats of theLochan valley. The morning was fine, the keen air invited to highspirits, plovers piped entrancingly over the bent and linnets sang inthe whins, there was a solid breakfast behind him, and the promise of acheerful road till luncheon. The stage was set for good humour, butDickson's heart, which should have been ascending with the larks, stuckleadenly in his boots. He was not even relieved at putting Dalquharterbehind him. The atmosphere of that unhallowed place lay still on hissoul. He hated it, but he hated himself more. Here was one, who hadhugged himself all his days as an adventurer waiting his chance, running away at the first challenge of adventure; a lover of Romancewho fled from the earliest overture of his goddess. He was ashamed andangry, but what else was there to do? Burglary in the company of aqueer poet and a queerer urchin? It was unthinkable. 

Presently, as they tramped silently on, they came to the bridge beneathwhich the peaty waters of the Garple ran in porter-coloured pools andtawny cascades. From a clump of elders on the other side Dougalemerged. A barefoot boy, dressed in much the same parody of a BoyScout's uniform, but with corduroy shorts instead of a kilt, stoodbefore him at rigid attention. Some command was issued, the childsaluted, and trotted back past the travellers with never a look atthem. Discipline was strong among the Gorbals Die-Hards; no Chief ofStaff ever conversed with his General under a stricter etiquette. 

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

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

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

Dickson brightened. Was the insane venture off?

"For a wee bit I was fair beat. But I mindit that the lassie wasallowed to walk in a kind o' a glass hoose on the side farthest awayfrom the Garple. That was where she was singin' yest'reen. So Ireckonissinced in that direction, and I fund a queer place. " SacredSongs and Solos was requisitioned, and on a page of it Dougal proceededto make marks with the stump of a carpenter's pencil. "See here, " hecommanded. "There's the glass place wi' a door into the Hoose. Thatdoor maun be open or the lassie maun hae the key, for she comes therewhenever she likes. Now' at each end o' the place the doors arelockit, but the front that looks on the garden is open, wi' muckleposts and flower-pots. The trouble is that that side there' maybetwenty feet o' a wall between the pawrapet and the ground. It's anauld wall wi' cracks and holes in it, and it wouldn't be ill to sklim. That's why they let her gang there when she wants, for a lassiecouldn't get away without breakin' her neck. "

"Could we climb it?" Heritage asked. 

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

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

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

"I'm coming with you, " he said. 

"Sportsman, " said Heritage, and held out his hand. "Well done, theauld yin, " said the Chieftain of the Gorbals Die-Hards. Dickson'squaking heart experienced a momentary bound as he followed Heritagedown the track into the Garple Dean. 

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

"It's a ticklish job, " he whispered. "There's the tinklers, mind, that's campin' in the Dean. If they're still in their camp we can getby easy enough, but they're maybe wanderin' about the wud afterrabbits.... Then we maun ford the water, for ye'll no' cross it lowerdown where it's deep.... Our road is on the Hoose side o' the Dean, andit's awfu' public if there's onybody on the other side, though it's hidwell enough from folk up in the policies.... Ye maun do exactly what Itell ye. When we get near danger I'll scout on ahead, and I daur ye tomove a hair o' your heid till I give the word. "

Presently, when they were at the edge of the water, Dougal announcedhis intention of crossing. Three boulders in the stream made a bridgefor an active man, and Heritage hopped lightly over. Not so Dickson, who stuck fast on the second stone, and would certainly have fallen inhad not Dougal plunged into the current and steadied him with a grimyhand. The leap was at last successfully taken, and the three scrambledup a rough scaur, all reddened with iron springs, till they struck aslender track running down the Dean on its northern side. Here theundergrowth was very thick, and they had gone the better part of half amile before the covert thinned sufficiently to show them the streambeneath. Then Dougal halted them with a finger on his lips, and creptforward alone. 

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

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

On one side was the House, a hundred yards or so back from the edge, the roof showing above the precipitous scarp. Half-way down the slopebecame easier, a jumble of boulders and boiler-plates, till it reachedthe waters of the small haven, which lay calm as a mill-pond in thewindless forenoon. The haven broadened out at its foot and revealed asegment of blue sea. The opposite shore was flatter, and showed whatlooked like an old wharf and the ruins of buildings, behind which rosea bank clad with scrub and surmounted by some gnarled and wind-crookedfirs. 

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

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

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

Up that broken hillside they crawled, well in the cover of the tumbledstones, till they reached a low wall which was the boundary of thegarden. The House was now behind them on their right rear, and as theytopped the crest they had a glimpse of an ancient dovecot and the ruinsof the old Huntingtower on the short thymy turf which ran seaward tothe cliffs. Dougal led them along a sunk fence which divided the downsfrom the lawns behind the house, and, avoiding the stables, broughtthem by devious ways to a thicket of rhododendrons and broom. On allfours they travelled the length of the place, and came to the edgewhere some forgotten gardeners had once tended a herbaceous border. The border was now rank and wild, and, lying flat under the shade of anazalea, and peering through the young spears of iris, Dickson andHeritage regarded the north-western facade of the house. 

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

"Ye maun bide here, " said Dougal, "and no cheep above your breath. Afore we dare to try that wall, I maun ken where Lean and Spittal andDobson are. I'm off to spy the policies. " He glided out of sightbehind a clump of pampas grass. 

For hours, so it seemed, Dickson was left to his own unpleasantreflections. His body, prone on the moist earth, was fairlycomfortable, but his mind was ill at ease. The scramble up thehillside had convinced him that he was growing old, and there was norebound in his soul to counter the conviction. He felt listless, spiritless--an apathy with fright trembling somewhere at the back ofit. He regarded the verandah wall with foreboding. How on earth couldhe climb that? And if he did there would be his exposed hinder-partsinviting a shot from some malevolent gentleman among the trees. Hereflected that he would give a large sum of money to be out of thispreposterous adventure. 

Heritage's hand was stretched towards him, containing two of Mrs. Morran's jellied scones, of which the Poet had been wise enough tobring a supply in his pocket. The food cheered him, for he was growingvery hungry, and he began to take an interest in the scene before himinstead of his own thoughts. He observed every detail of the verandah. There was a door at one end, he noted, giving on a path which wounddown to the sunk garden. As he looked he heard a sound of steps andsaw a man ascending this path. 

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

Dickson had finished the last crumbs of his scones before the manemerged again. He seemed to be in a greater hurry than ever as helocked the garden door behind him and hobbled along the west front ofthe House till he was lost to sight. After that the time passedslowly. A pair of yellow wagtails arrived and played at hide-and-seekamong the stuccoed pillars. The little dry scratch of their claws washeard clearly in the still air. Dickson had almost fallen asleep whena smothered exclamation from Heritage woke him to attention. A girlhad appeared in the verandah. 

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

One of Dickson's troubles had been that he did not believe Dougal'sstory, and the sight of the girl removed one doubt. That bright exoticthing did not belong to the Cruives or to Scotland at all, and that sheshould be in the House removed the place from the conventional dwellingto which the laws against burglary applied. 

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

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

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

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

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

The ladder was left alone. Dougal's hand brought Dickson summarily tothe floor, where he was fairly well concealed by a mess of matting. Unfortunately his head was in the vicinity of some upturned pot-plants, so that a cactus ticked his brow and a spike of aloe supportedpainfully the back of his neck. Heritage was prone behind two oldwater-butts, and Dougal was in a hamper which had once contained seedpotatoes. The house door had panels of opaque glass, so the new-comercould not see the doings of the three till it was opened, and by thattime all were in cover. 

The man--it was Spittal--walked rapidly along the verandah and out ofthe garden door. He was talking to himself again, and Dickson, who hada glimpse of his face, thought he looked both evil and furious. Thencame some anxious moments, for had the man glanced back when he wasonce outside, he must have seen the tell-tale ladder. But he seemedimmersed in his own reflections, for he hobbled steadily along thehouse front till he was lost to sight. 

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

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

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

Through a green baize door they entered a passage which led to thekitchen regions, and turned in at the first door on their right. Fromits situation Dickson calculated that the room lay on the seaward sideof the House next to the verandah. The light was bad, for the twowindows were partially shuttered, but it had plainly been asmoking-room, for there were pipe-racks by the hearth, and on the wallsa number of old school and college photographs, a couple of oars withemblazoned names, and a variety of stags' and roebucks' heads. Therewas no fire in the grate, but a small oil-stove burned inside thefender. In a stiff-backed chair sat an elderly woman, who seemed tofeel the cold, for she was muffled to the neck in a fur coat. Besideher, so that the late afternoon light caught her face and head, stood agirl. 

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

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

The girl looked at him. 

"I do not remember, " she said slowly. 

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

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

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

"And now? Why have you come here?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"We don't, " said Heritage. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dickson felt impelled to intervene. 

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

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

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

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

"I will tell you all, " and she looked straight at Heritage. "I do notthink you would be cruel or false, for you have honourable faces.... Listen, then. I am a Russian, and for two years have been an exile. Iwill not now speak of my house, for it is no more, or how I escaped, for it is the common tale of all of us. I have seen things moreterrible than any dream and yet lived, but I have paid a price for suchexperience. First I went to Italy where there were friends, and Iwished only to have peace among kindly people. About poverty I do notcare, for, to us, who have lost all the great things, the want of breadis a little matter. But peace was forbidden me, for I learned that weRussians had to win back our fatherland again, and that the weakestmust work in that cause. So I was set my task, and it was veryhard.... There were others still hidden in Russia which must be broughtto a safe place. In that work I was ordered to share. "

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

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

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

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

"There were certain jewels of great price which were about to be turnedinto guns and armies for our enemies. These our people recovered, andthe charge of them was laid on me. Who would suspect, they said, afoolish girl? But our enemies were very clever, and soon the hunt wascried against me. They tried to rob me of them, but they failed, for Itoo had become clever. Then they asked for the help of the law--firstin Italy and then in France. Ah, it was subtly done. Respectablebourgeois, who hated the Bolsheviki but had bought long ago the bondsof my country, desired to be repaid their debts out of the property ofthe Russian crown which might be found in the West. But behind themwere the Jews, and behind the Jews our unsleeping enemies. Once I wasenmeshed in the law I would be safe for them, and presently they wouldfind the hiding-place of the treasure, and while the bourgeois wereclamouring in the courts it would be safe in their pockets. So I fled. For months I have been fleeing and hiding. They have tried to kidnapme many times, and once they have tried to kill me, but I, too, havebecome clever--oh, so clever. And I have learned not to fear. "

This simple recital affected Dickson's honest soul with the liveliestindignation. "Sich doings!" he exclaimed, and he could not forbearfrom whispering to Heritage an extract from that gentleman'sconversation the first night at Kirkmichael. "We needn't imitate alltheir methods, but they've got hold of the right end of the stick. They seek truth and reality. " The reply from the Poet was an angryshrug. 

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

"I always meant to come to England, for I thought it the sanest placein a mad world. Also it is a good country to hide in, for it is apartfrom Europe, and your police, as I thought, do not permit evil men tobe their own law. But especially I had a friend, a Scottish gentleman, whom I knew in the days when we Russians were still a nation. I sawhim again in Italy, and since he was kind and brave I told him somepart of my troubles. He was called Quentin Kennedy, and now he isdead. He told me that in Scotland he had a lonely chateau, where Icould hide secretly and safely, and against the day when I might behard-pressed he gave me a letter to his steward, bidding him welcome meas a guest when I made application. At that time I did not think Iwould need such sanctuary, but a month ago the need became urgent, forthe hunt in France was very close on me. So I sent a message to thesteward as Captain Kennedy told me. "

"What is his name?" Heritage asked. 

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

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

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

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

"Dobson I do not know. Leon was there. He is no Russian, but aBelgian who was a valet in my father's service till he joined theBolsheviki. Next day the Lett Spidel came, and I knew that I was invery truth entrapped. For of all our enemies he is, save one, the mostsubtle and unwearied. "

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

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

She nodded. 

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

She shook her head. "I cannot explain--except, perhaps, that Spidelhad not arrived that night, and Leon may have been waitinginstructions. "

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

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

"Have they searched for them?"

"The first day they demanded them of me. I denied all knowledge. Thenthey ransacked this house--I think they ransack it daily, but I am tooclever for them. I am not allowed to go beyond the verandah, and whenat first I disobeyed there was always one of them in wait to force meback with a pistol behind my head. Every morning Leon brings us foodfor the day--good food, but not enough, so that Cousin Eugenie isalways hungry, and each day he and Spidel question and threaten me. This afternoon Spidel has told me that their patience is at an end. Hehas given me till tomorrow at noon to produce the jewels. If not, hesays I will die. "

"Mercy on us!" Dickson exclaimed. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That's the man she was askin' me about yesterday, " said Dougal, whohad squatted on the floor. 

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

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

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

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

Heritage ran a perplexed hand through his hair. The sunset which hadbeen flaming for some time in the unshuttered panes was now passinginto the dark. The girl lit a lamp after first shuttering the rest ofthe windows. As she turned up the wick the odd dusty room and itsstrange company were revealed more clearly, and Dickson saw with ashock how haggard was the beautiful face. A great pity seized him andalmost conquered his timidity. 

"It is very difficult to help you, " Heritage was saying. "You won'tleave this place, and you won't claim the protection of the law. Youare very independent, Mademoiselle, but it can't go on for ever. Theman you fear may arrive at any moment. At any moment, too, yourtreasure may by discovered. "

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Where are they?" Heritage asked. 

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

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

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

"I trust you, for you are a soldier. Oh, and I thank you from myheart, my friends. " She held out a hand to each, which caused Heritageto grow suddenly very red. 

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

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

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

The night smelt fresh and moist as if a break in the weather wereimminent. As they scrambled along the Garple Dean a pinprick of lightbelow showed where the tinklers were busy by their fire. Dickson'sspirits suffered a sharp fall and he began to marvel at his temerity. What in Heaven's name had he undertaken? To carry very preciousthings, to which certainly he had no right, through the enemy todistant Glasgow. How could he escape the notice of the watchers? Hewas already suspect, and the sight of him back again in Dalquharterwould double that suspicion. He must brazen it out, but he distrustedhis powers with such tell-tale stuff in his pockets. They might murderhim anywhere on the moor road or in an empty railway carriage. Anunpleasant memory of various novels he had read in which such thingshappened haunted his mind.... There was just one consolation. This jobover, he would be quit of the whole business. And honourably quit, too, for he would have played a manly part in a most unpleasant affair. He could retire to the idyllic with the knowledge that he had not beenwanting when Romance called. Not a soul should ever hear of it, but hesaw himself in the future tramping green roads or sitting by his winterfireside pleasantly retelling himself the tale. 

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

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

"What star?" Dickson asked. 

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

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

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

Dickson rose nobly to the occasion. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER VI

HOW MR. McCUNN DEPARTED WITH RELIEF AND RETURNED WITH RESOLUTION

At seven o'clock on the following morning the post-cart, summoned by anearly message from Mrs. Morran, appeared outside the cottage. In it satthe ancient postman, whose real home was Auchenlochan, but who sleptalternate nights in Dalquharter, and beside him Dobson the innkeeper. Dickson and his hostess stood at the garden-gate, the former with hispack on his back, and at his feet a small stout wooden box, of the kindin which cheeses are transported, garnished with an immense padlock. Heritage for obvious reasons did not appear; at the moment he wascrouched on the floor of the loft watching the departure through a gapin the dimity curtains. 

The traveller, after making sure that Dobson was looking, furtivelyslipped the key of the trunk into his knapsack. 

"Well, good-bye, Auntie Phemie, " he said. "I'm sure you've been awfulkind to me, and I don't know how to thank you for all you're sending. "

"Tuts, Dickson, my man, they're hungry folk about Glesca that'll beglad o' my scones and jeelie. Tell Mirren I'm rale pleased wi' herman, and haste ye back soon. "

The trunk was deposited on the floor of the cart, and Dickson clamberedinto the back seat. He was thankful that he had not to sit next toDobson, for he had tell-tale stuff on his person. The morning was wet, so he wore his waterproof, which concealed his odd tendency tostoutness about the middle. 

Mrs. Morran played her part well, with all the becoming gravity of anaffectionate aunt, but as soon as the post-cart turned the bend of theroad her demeanour changed. She was torn with convulsions of silentlaughter. She retreated to the kitchen, sank into a chair, wrapped herface in her apron and rocked. Heritage, descending, found herstruggling to regain composure. "D'ye ken his wife's name?" shegasped. "I ca'ed her Mirren! And maybe the body's no' mairried! Hechsirs! Hech sirs!"

Meanwhile Dickson was bumping along the moor-road on the back of thepost-cart. He had worked out a plan, just as he had been usedaforetime to devise a deal in foodstuffs. He had expected one of thewatchers to turn up, and was rather relieved that it should be Dobson, whom he regarded as "the most natural beast" of the three. Somehow hedid not think that he would be molested before he reached the station, since his enemies would still be undecided in their minds. Probablythey only wanted to make sure that he had really departed to forget allabout him. But if not, he had his plan ready. 

"Are you travelling to-day?" he asked the innkeeper. 

"Just as far as the station to see about some oil-cake I'm expectin'. What's in your wee kist? Ye came here wi' nothing but the bag on yourback. "

"Ay, the kist is no' mine. It's my auntie's. She's a kind body, andnothing would serve but she must pack a box for me to take back. Let mesee. There's a baking of scones; three pots of honey and one ofrhubarb jam--she was aye famous for her rhubarb jam; a mutton ham, which you can't get for love or money in Glasgow; some home-made blackpuddings, and a wee skim-milk cheese. I doubt I'll have to take a cabfrom the station. "

Dobson appeared satisfied, lit a short pipe, and relapsed intomeditation. The long uphill road, ever climbing to where far offshowed the tiny whitewashed buildings which were the railway station, seemed interminable this morning. The aged postman addressed strangeobjurgations to his aged horse and muttered reflections to himself, theinnkeeper smoked, and Dickson stared back into the misty hollow wherelay Dalquharter. The south-west wind had brought up a screen of rainclouds and washed all the countryside in a soft wet grey. But the eyecould still travel a fair distance, and Dickson thought he had aglimpse of a figure on a bicycle leaving the village two miles back. He wondered who it could be. Not Heritage, who had no bicycle. Perhaps some woman who was conspicuously late for the train. Womenwere the chief cyclists nowadays in country places. 

Then he forgot about the bicycle and twisted his neck to watch thestation. It was less than a mile off now, and they had no time tospare, for away to the south among the hummocks of the bog he saw thesmoke of the train coming from Auchenlochan. The postman also saw itand whipped up his beast into a clumsy canter. Dickson, always nervousbeing late for trains, forced his eyes away and regarded again the roadbehind him. Suddenly the cyclist had become quite plain--a little morethan a mile behind--a man, and pedalling furiously in spite of thestiff ascent. It could only be one person--Leon. He must havediscovered their visit to the House yesterday and be on the way to warnDobson. If he reached the station before the train, there would be nojourney to Glasgow that day for one respectable citizen. 

Dickson was in a fever of impatience and fright. He dared not abjurethe postman to hurry, lest Dobson should turn his head and descry hiscolleague. But that ancient man had begun to realize the shortness oftime and was urging the cart along at a fair pace, since they were nowon the flatter shelf of land which carried the railway. 

Dickson kept his eyes fixed on the bicycle and his teeth shut tight onhis lower lip. Now it was hidden by the last dip of hill; now itemerged into view not a quarter of a mile behind, and its rider gavevent to a shrill call. Luckily the innkeeper did not hear, for at thatmoment with a jolt the cart pulled up at the station door, accompaniedby the roar of the incoming train. 

Dickson whipped down from the back seat and seized the solitary porter. "Label the box for Glasgow and into the van with it, Quick, man, andthere'll be a shilling for you. " He had been doing some rapid thinkingthese last minutes and had made up his mind. If Dobson and he werealone in a carriage he could not have the box there; that must beelsewhere, so that Dobson could not examine it if he were set onviolence, somewhere in which it could still be a focus of suspicion andattract attention from his person, He took his ticket, and rushed onto the platform, to find the porter and the box at the door of theguard's van. Dobson was not there. With the vigour of a fussytraveller he shouted directions to the guard to take good care of hisluggage, hurled a shilling at the porter, and ran for a carriage. Atthat moment he became aware of Dobson hurrying through the entrance. Hemust have met Leon and heard news from him, for his face was red andhis ugly brows darkening. 

The train was in motion. "Here, you" Dobson's voice shouted. "Stop! Iwant a word wi' ye. " Dickson plunged at a third-class carriage, for hesaw faces behind the misty panes, and above all things then he fearedan empty compartment. He clambered on to the step, but the handlewould not turn, and with a sharp pang of fear he felt the innkeeper'sgrip on his arm. Then some Samaritan from within let down the window, opened the door, and pulled him up. He fell on a seat, and a secondlater Dobson staggered in beside him. 

Thank Heaven, the dirty little carriage was nearly full. There weretwo herds, each with a dog and a long hazel crook, and an elderly womanwho looked like a ploughman's wife out for a day's marketing. And therewas one other whom Dickson recognized with peculiar joy--the bagman inthe provision line of business whom he had met three days before atKilchrist. 

The recognition was mutual. "Mr. McCunn!" the bagman exclaimed. "My, but that was running it fine! I hope you've had a pleasant holiday, sir?"

"Very pleasant. I've been spending two nights with friends downhereaways. I've been very fortunate in the weather, for it has brokejust when I'm leaving. "

Dickson sank back on the hard cushions. It had been a near thing, butso far he had won. He wished his heart did not beat so fast, and hehoped he did not betray his disorder in his face. Very deliberately hehunted for his pipe and filled it slowly. Then he turned to Dobson, "Ididn't know you were travelling the day. What about your oil-cake?"

"I've changed my mind, " was the gruff answer. 

"Was that you I heard crying on me when we were running for the train?"

"Ay. I thought ye had forgot about your kist. "

"No fear, " said Dickson. "I'm no' likely to forget my auntie's scones. "

He laughed pleasantly and then turned to the bagman. Thereafter thecompartment hummed with the technicalities of the grocery trade. Heexerted himself to draw out his companion, to have him refer to thegreat firm of D. McCunn, so that the innkeeper might be ashamed of hissuspicions. What nonsense to imagine that a noted and wealthy Glasgowmerchant--the bagman's tone was almost reverential--would concernhimself with the affairs of a forgotten village and a tumble-down house!

Presently the train drew up at Kirkmichael station. The womandescended, and Dobson, after making sure that no one else meant tofollow her example, also left the carriage. A porter was shouting:"Fast train to Glasgow--Glasgow next stop. " Dickson watched theinnkeeper shoulder his way through the crowd in the direction of thebooking office. "He's off to send a telegram, " he decided. "There'llbe trouble waiting for me at the other end. "

When the train moved on he found himself disinclined for further talk. He had suddenly become meditative, and curled up in a corner with hishead hard against the window pane, watching the wet fields andglistening roads as they slipped past. He had his plans made for hisconduct at Glasgow, but, Lord! how he loathed the whole business! Lastnight he had had a kind of gusto in his desire to circumvent villainy;at Dalquharter station he had enjoyed a momentary sense of triumph; nowhe felt very small, lonely, and forlorn. Only one thought far at theback of his mind cropped up now and then to give him comfort. He wasentering on the last lap. Once get this detestable errand done and hewould be a free man, free to go back to the kindly humdrum life fromwhich he should never have strayed. Never again, he vowed, never again. Rather would he spend the rest of his days in hydropathics than comewithin the pale of such horrible adventures. Romance, forsooth! Thiswas not the mild goddess he had sought, but an awful harpy who battenedon the souls of men. 

He had some bad minutes as the train passed through the suburbs andalong the grimy embankment by which the southern lines enter the city. But as it rumbled over the river bridge and slowed down before theterminus his vitality suddenly revived. He was a business man, andthere was now something for him to do. 

After a rapid farewell to the bagman, he found a porter and hustled hisbox out of the van in the direction of the left-luggage office. Spies, summoned by Dobson's telegram, were, he was convinced, watching hisevery movement, and he meant to see that they missed nothing. Hereceived his ticket for the box, and slowly and ostentatiously stowedit away in his pack. Swinging the said pack on his arm, he saunteredthrough the entrance hall to the row of waiting taxi-cabs, and selectedthe oldest and most doddering driver. He deposited the pack inside onthe seat, and then stood still as if struck with a sudden thought. 

"I breakfasted terrible early, " he told the driver. "I think I'll havea bite to eat. Will you wait?"

"Ay, " said the man, who was reading a grubby sheet of newspaper. "I'llwait as long as ye like, for it's you that pays. "

Dickson left his pack in the cab and, oddly enough for a careful man, he did not shut the door. He re-entered the station, strolled to thebookstall, and bought a Glasgow Herald. His steps then tended to therefreshment-room, where he ordered a cup of coffee and two Bath buns, and seated himself at a small table. There he was soon immersed in thefinancial news, and though he sipped his coffee he left the bunsuntasted. He took out a penknife and cut various extracts from theHerald, bestowing them carefully in his pocket. An observer would haveseen an elderly gentleman absorbed in market quotations. 

After a quarter of an hour had been spent in this performance hehappened to glance at the clock and rose with an exclamation. Hebustled out to his taxi and found the driver still intent upon hisreading. "Here I am at last, " he said cheerily, and had a foot on thestep, when he stopped suddenly with a cry. It was a cry of alarm, butalso of satisfaction. 

"What's become of my pack? I left it on the seat, and now it's gone!There's been a thief here. "

The driver, roused from his lethargy, protested in the name of his godsthat no one had been near it. "Ye took it into the station wi' ye, " heurged. 

"I did nothing of the kind. Just you wait here till I see theinspector. A bonny watch YOU keep on a gentleman's things. "

But Dickson did not interview the railway authorities. Instead hehurried to the left-luggage office. "I deposited a small box here ashort time ago. I mind the number. Is it here still?"

The attendant glanced at the shelf. "A wee deal box with iron bands. It was took out ten minutes syne. A man brought the ticket and took itaway on his shoulder. "

"Thank you. There's been a mistake, but the blame's mine. My manmistook my orders. "

Then he returned to the now nervous taxi-driver. "I've taken it upwith the station-master and he's putting the police on. You'll likelybe wanted, so I gave him your number. It's a fair disgrace that thereshould be so many thieves about this station. It's not the first timeI've lost things. Drive me to West George Street and look sharp. " Andhe slammed the door with the violence of an angry man. 

But his reflections were not violent, for he smiled to himself. "Thatwas pretty neat. They'll take some time to get the kist open, for Idropped the key out of the train after we left Kirkmichael. That givesme a fair start. If I hadn't thought of that, they'd have found someway to grip me and ripe me long before I got to the Bank. " He shudderedas he thought of the dangers he had escaped. "As it is, they're offthe track for half an hour at least, while they're rummaging amongAuntie Phemie's scones. " At the thought he laughed heartily, and whenhe brought the taxi-cab to a standstill by rapping on the front window, he left it with a temper apparently restored. Obviously he had nogrudge against the driver, who to his immense surprise was rewardedwith ten shillings. 

Three minutes later Mr. McCunn might have been seen entering the headoffice of the Strathclyde Bank and inquiring for the manager. There wasno hesitation about him now, for his foot was on his native heath. Thechief cashier received him with deference in spite of his unorthodoxgarb, for he was not the least honoured of the bank's customers. As itchanced he had been talking about him that very morning to a gentlemanfrom London. "The strength of this city, " he had said, tapping hiseyeglasses on his knuckles, "does not lie in its dozen very rich men, but in the hundred or two homely folk who make no parade of wealth. Men like Dickson McCunn, for example, who live all their life in asemi-detached villa and die worth half a million. " And the Londonerhad cordially assented. 

So Dickson was ushered promptly into an inner room, and was warmlygreeted by Mr. Mackintosh, the patron of the Gorbals Die-Hards. 

"I must thank you for your generous donation, McCunn. Those boys willget a little fresh air and quiet after the smoke and din of Glasgow. Alittle country peace to smooth out the creases in their poor littlesouls. "

"Maybe, " said Dickson, with a vivid recollection of Dougal as he hadlast seen him. Somehow he did not think that peace was likely to bethe portion of that devoted band. "But I've not come here to speakabout that. "

He took off his waterproof; then his coat and waistcoat; and showedhimself a strange figure with sundry bulges about the middle. Themanager's eyes grew very round. Presently these excrescences wererevealed as linen bags sewn on to his shirt, and fitting into thehollow between ribs and hip. With some difficulty he slit the bags andextracted three hide-bound packages. 

"See here, Mackintosh, " he said solemnly. "I hand you over theseparcels, and you're to put them in the innermost corner of your strongroom. You needn't open them. Just put them away as they are, andwrite me a receipt for them. Write it now. "

Mr. Mackintosh obediently took pen in hand. 

"What'll I call them?" he asked. 

"Just the three leather parcels handed to you by Dickson McCunn, Esq. , naming the date. "

Mr. Mackintosh wrote. He signed his name with his usual flourish andhanded the slip to his client. 

"Now, " said Dickson, "you'll put that receipt in the strong box whereyou keep my securities and you'll give it up to nobody but me in personand you'll surrender the parcels only on presentation of the receipt. D'you understand?"

"Perfectly. May I ask any questions?"

"You'd better not if you don't want to hear lees. '

"What's in the packages?" Mr. Mackintosh weighed them in his hand. 

"That's asking, " said Dickson. "But I'll tell ye this much. It'sjools. "

"Your own?"

"No, but I'm their trustee. "

"Valuable?"

"I was hearing they were worth more than a million pounds. "

"God bless my soul, " said the startled manager. "I don't like thiskind of business, McCunn. "

"No more do I. But you'll do it to oblige an old friend and a goodcustomer. If you don't know much about the packages you know all aboutme. Now, mind, I trust you. "

Mr. Mackintosh forced himself to a joke. "Did you maybe steal them?"

Dickson grinned. "Just what I did. And that being so, I want you tolet me out by the back door. "

When he found himself in the street he felt the huge relief of a boywho had emerged with credit from the dentist's chair. Remembering thathere would be no midday dinner for him at home, his first step was tofeed heavily at a restaurant. He had, so far as he could see, surmounted all his troubles, his one regret being that he had lost hispack, which contained among other things his Izaak Walton and hissafety razor. He bought another razor and a new Walton, and mounted anelectric tram car en route for home. 

Very contented with himself he felt as the car swung across the Clydebridge. He had done well--but of that he did not want to think, forthe whole beastly thing was over. He was going to bury that memory, tobe resurrected perhaps on a later day when the unpleasantness had beenforgotten. Heritage had his address, and knew where to come when itwas time to claim the jewels. As for the watchers, they must haveceased to suspect him, when they discovered the innocent contents ofhis knapsack and Mrs. Morran's box. Home for him, and a luxurious teaby his own fireside; and then an evening with his books, for Heritage'snonsense had stimulated his literary fervour. He would dip into hisold favourites again to confirm his faith. To-morrow he would go for ajaunt somewhere--perhaps down the Clyde, or to the South of England, which he had heard was a pleasant, thickly peopled country. No morelonely inns and deserted villages for him; henceforth he would makecertain of comfort and peace. 

The rain had stopped, and, as the car moved down the dreary vista ofEglinton street, the sky opened into fields of blue and the April sunsilvered the puddles. It was in such place and under such weather thatDickson suffered an overwhelming experience. 

It is beyond my skill, being all unlearned in the game ofpsycho-analysis, to explain how this thing happened. I concern myselfonly with facts. Suddenly the pretty veil of self-satisfaction was rentfrom top to bottom, and Dickson saw a figure of himself within, a smugleaden little figure which simpered and preened itself and was hollowas a rotten nut. And he hated it. 

The horrid truth burst on him that Heritage had been right. He onlyplayed with life. That imbecile image was a mere spectator, content toapplaud, but shrinking from the contact of reality. It had been allright as a provision merchant, but when it fancied itself capable ofhigher things it had deceived itself. Foolish little image with itsbrave dreams and its swelling words from Browning! All make-believe ofthe feeblest. He was a coward, running away at the first threat ofdanger. It was as if he were watching a tall stranger with a wandpointing to the embarrassed phantom that was himself, and ruthlesslyexposing its frailties! And yet the pitiless showman was himselftoo--himself as he wanted to be, cheerful, brave, resourceful, indomitable. 

Dickson suffered a spasm of mortal agony. "Oh, I'm surely not so badas all that, " he groaned. But the hurt was not only in his pride. Hesaw himself being forced to new decisions, and each alternative was ofthe blackest. He fairly shivered with the horror of it. The carslipped past a suburban station from which passengers wereemerging--comfortable black-coated men such as he had once been. He wasbitterly angry with Providence for picking him out of the great crowdof sedentary folk for this sore ordeal. "Why was I tethered to sich aconscience?" was his moan. But there was that stern inquisitor withhis pointer exploring his soul. "You flatter yourself you have doneyour share, " he was saying. "You will make pretty stories about it toyourself, and some day you may tell your friends, modestly disclaimingany special credit. But you will be a liar, for you know you areafraid. You are running away when the work is scarcely begun, andleaving it to a few boys and a poet whom you had the impudence theother day to despise. I think you are worse than a coward. I thinkyou are a cad. "

His fellow-passengers on the top of the car saw an absorbed middle-agedgentleman who seemed to have something the matter with his bronchialtubes. They could not guess at the tortured soul. The decision wascoming nearer, the alternatives loomed up dark and inevitable. On oneside was submission to ignominy, on the other a return to that placewhich he detested, and yet loathed himself for detesting. "It seemsI'm not likely to have much peace either way, " he reflected dismally. 

How the conflict would have ended had it continued on these lines Icannot say. The soul of Mr. McCunn was being assailed by moral andmetaphysical adversaries with which he had not been trained to deal. But suddenly it leapt from negatives to positives. He saw the face ofthe girl in the shuttered House, so fair and young and yet so haggard. It seemed to be appealing to him to rescue it from a great lonelinessand fear. Yes, he had been right, it had a strange look of hisJanet--the wide-open eyes, the solemn mouth. What was to become ofthat child if he failed her in her need?

Now Dickson was a practical man, and this view of the case brought himinto a world which he understood. "It's fair ridiculous, " hereflected. "Nobody there to take a grip of things. Just a wheenGorbals keelies and the lad Heritage. Not a business man among thelot. "

The alternatives, which hove before him like two great banks of cloud, were altering their appearance. One was becoming faint and tenuous;the other, solid as ever, was just a shade less black. He lifted hiseyes and saw in the near distance the corner of the road which led tohis home. "I must decide before I reach that corner, " he told himself. 

Then his mind became apathetic. He began to whistle dismally throughhis teeth, watching the corner as it came nearer. The car stopped witha jerk. "I'll go back, " he said aloud, clambering down the steps. Thetruth was he had decided five minutes before when he first saw Janet'sface. 

He walked briskly to his house, entirely refusing to waste any moreenergy on reflection. "This is a business proposition, " he toldhimself, "and I'm going to handle it as sich. " Tibby was surprised tosee him and offered him tea in vain. "I'm just back for a few minutes. Let's see the letters. "

There was one from his wife. She proposed to stay another week at theNeuk Hydropathic and suggested that he might join her and bring herhome. He sat down and wrote a long affectionate reply, declining, butexpressing his delight that she was soon returning. "That's very likelythe last time Mamma will hear from me, " he reflected, but--oddlyenough--without any great fluttering of the heart. 

Then he proceeded to be furiously busy. He sent out Tibby to buyanother knapsack and to order a cab and to cash a considerable cheque. In the knapsack he packed a fresh change of clothing and the new safetyrazor, but no books, for he was past the need of them. That done, hedrove to his solicitors. 

"What like a firm are Glendonan and Speirs in Edinburgh?" he asked thesenior partner. 

"Oh, very respectable. Very respectable indeed. Regular EdinburghW. S. Lot. Do a lot of factoring. "

"I want you to telephone through to them and inquire about a place inCarrick called Huntingtower, near the village of Dalquharter. Iunderstand it's to let, and I'm thinking of taking a lease of it. "

The senior partner after some delay got through to Edinburgh, and waspresently engaged in the feverish dialectic which the long-distancetelephone involves. "I want to speak to Mr. Glendonan himself.... Yes, yes, Mr. Caw of Paton and Linklater.... Good afternoon.... Huntingtower. Yes, in Carrick. Not to let? But I understand it'sbeen in the market for some months. You say you've an idea it has justbeen let. But my client is positive that you're mistaken, unless theagreement was made this morning.... You'll inquire? Ah, I see. Theactual factoring is done by your local agent, Mr. James Loudon, inAuchenlochan. You think my client had better get into touch with himat once. Just wait a minute, please. "

He put his hand over the receiver. "Usual Edinburgh way of doingbusiness, " he observed caustically. "What do you want done?"

"I'll run down and see this Loudon. Tell Glendonan and Spiers toadvise him to expect me, for I'll go this very day. "

Mr. Caw resumed his conversation. "My client would like a telegramsent at once to Mr. Loudon introducing him. He's Mr. Dickson McCunn ofMearns Street--the great provision merchant, you know. Oh, yes! Goodfor any rent. Refer if you like to the Strathclyde Bank, but you cantake my word for it. Thank you. Then that's settled. Good-bye. "

Dickson's next visit was to a gunmaker who was a fellow-elder with himin the Guthrie Memorial Kirk. 

"I want a pistol and a lot of cartridges, " he announced. "I'm notcaring what kind it is, so long as it is a good one and not too big. "

"For yourself?" the gunmaker asked. "You must have a license, I doubt, and there's a lot of new regulations. "

"I can't wait on a license. It's for a cousin of mine who's off toMexico at once. You've got to find some way of obliging an old friend, Mr. McNair. "

Mr. McNair scratched his head. "I don't see how I can sell you one. But I'll tell you what I'll do--I'll lend you one. It belongs to mynephew, Peter Tait, and has been lying in a drawer ever since he cameback from the front. He has no use for it now that he's a placedminister. "

So Dickson bestowed in the pockets of his water-proof a servicerevolver and fifty cartridges, and bade his cab take him to the shop inMearns Street. For a moment the sight of the familiar place struck apang to his breast, but he choked down unavailing regrets. He ordered agreat hamper of foodstuffs--the most delicate kind of tinned goods, twoperfect hams, tongues, Strassburg pies, chocolate, cakes, biscuits, and, as a last thought, half a dozen bottles of old liqueur brandy. Itwas to be carefully packed, addressed to Mrs. Morran, DalquharterStation, and delivered in time for him to take down by the 7. 33 train. Then he drove to the terminus and dined with something like a desperatepeace in his heart. 

On this occasion he took a first-class ticket, for he wanted to bealone. As the lights began to be lit in the wayside stations and theclear April dusk darkened into night, his thoughts were sombre yetresigned. He opened the window and let the sharp air of theRenfrewshire uplands fill the carriage. It was fine weather againafter the rain, and a bright constellation--perhaps Dougal's friendO'Brien--hung in the western sky. How happy he would have been a weekago had he been starting thus for a country holiday! He could sniffthe faint scent of moor-burn and ploughed earth which had always beenhis first reminder of Spring. But he had been pitchforked out of thatold happy world and could never enter it again. Alas! for the roadsidefire, the cosy inn, the Compleat Angler, the Chavender or Chub!

And yet--and yet! He had done the right thing, though the Lord aloneknew how it would end. He began to pluck courage from his verymelancholy, and hope from his reflections upon the transitoriness oflife. He was austerely following Romance as he conceived it, and ifthat capricious lady had taken one dream from him she might yet rewardhim with a better. Tags of poetry came into his head which seemed tofavour this philosophy--particularly some lines of Browning on which heused to discourse to his Kirk Literary Society. Uncommon silly, heconsidered, these homilies of his must have been, mere twitterings ofthe unfledged. But now he saw more in the lines, a deeperinterpretation which he had earned the right to make. 

 "Oh world, where all things change and nought abides, Oh life, the long mutation--is it so? Is it with life as with the body's change?-- Where, e'en tho' better follow, good must pass. "

That was as far as he could get, though he cudgelled his memory tocontinue. Moralizing thus, he became drowsy, and was almost asleepwhen the train drew up at the station of Kirkmichael. 

CHAPTER VII

SUNDRY DOINGS IN THE MIRK

From Kirkmichael on the train stopped at every station, but nopassenger seemed to leave or arrive at the little platforms white inthe moon. At Dalquharter the case of provisions was safely transferredto the porter with instructions to take charge of it till it was sentfor. During the next few minutes Dickson's mind began to work upon hisproblem with a certain briskness. It was all nonsense that the law ofScotland could not be summoned to the defence. The jewels had beensafely got rid of, and who was to dispute their possession? Not Dobsonand his crew, who had no sort of title, and were out for naked robbery. The girl had spoken of greater dangers from new enemies--kidnapping, perhaps. Well, that was felony, and the police must be brought in. Probably if all were known the three watchers had criminal records, pages long, filed at Scotland Yard. The man to deal with that side ofthe business was Loudon the factor, and to him he was bound in thefirst place. He had made a clear picture in his head of this Loudon--aderelict old country writer, formal, pedantic, lazy, anxious only toget an unprofitable business off his hands with the least possibletrouble, never going near the place himself, and ably supported in hislethargy by conceited Edinburgh Writers to the Signet. "Sich notionsof business!" he murmured. "I wonder that there's a single countyfamily in Scotland no' in the bankruptcy court!" It was his mission towake up Mr. James Loudon. 

Arrived at Auchenlochan he went first to the Salutation Hotel, apretentious place sacred to golfers. There he engaged a bedroom forthe night and, having certain scruples, paid for it in advance. He alsohad some sandwiches prepared which he stowed in his pack, and filledhis flask with whisky. "I'm going home to Glasgow by the first trainin the to-morrow, " he told the landlady, "and now I've got to see afriend. I'll not be back till late. " He was assured that there wouldbe no difficulty about his admittance at any hour, and directed how tofind Mr. Loudon's dwelling. 

It was an old house fronting direct on the street, with a fanlightabove the door and a neat brass plate bearing the legend "Mr. JamesLoudon, Writer. " A lane ran up one side leading apparently to agarden, for the moonlight showed the dusk of trees. In front was themain street of Auchenlochan, now deserted save for a single roysterer, and opposite stood the ancient town house, with arches where thecountry folk came at the spring and autumn hiring fairs. Dickson rangthe antiquated bell, and was presently admitted to a dark hall flooredwith oilcloth, where a single gas-jet showed that on one side was thebusiness office and on the other the living-rooms. Mr. Loudon was atsupper, he was told, and he sent in his card. Almost at once the doorat the end on the left side was flung open and a large figure appearedflourishing a napkin. "Come in, sir, come in, " it cried. "I've justfinished a bite of meat. Very glad to see you. Here, Maggie, whatd'you mean by keeping the gentleman standing in that outer darkness?"

The room into which Dickson was ushered was small and bright, with ared paper on the walls, a fire burning, and a big oil lamp in thecentre of a table. Clearly Mr. Loudon had no wife, for it was abachelor's den in every line of it. A cloth was laid on a corner ofthe table, in which stood the remnants of a meal. Mr. Loudon seemed tohave been about to make a brew of punch, for a kettle simmered by thefire, and lemons and sugar flanked a pot-bellied whisky decanter of thetype that used to be known as a "mason's mell. "

The sight of the lawyer was a surprise to Dickson and dissipated hisnotions of an aged and lethargic incompetent. Mr. Loudon was astrongly built man who could not be a year over fifty. He had a ruddyface, clean shaven except for a grizzled moustache; his grizzled hairwas thinning round the temples; but his skin was unwrinkled and hiseyes had all the vigour of youth. His tweed suit was well cut, and thebuff waistcoat with flaps and pockets and the plain leather watchguardhinted at the sportsman, as did the half-dozen racing prints on thewall. A pleasant high-coloured figure he made; his voice had the frankring due to much use out of doors; and his expression had the singularcandour which comes from grey eyes with large pupils and a narrow iris. 

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

Dickson found some difficulty in the part for which he had casthimself. He had expected to condescend upon an elderly inept and givehim sharp instructions; instead he found himself faced with a jovial, virile figure which certainly did not suggest incompetence. It hasbeen mentioned already that he had always great difficulty in lookingany one in the face, and this difficulty was intensified when he foundhimself confronted with bold and candid eyes. He felt abashed and alittle nervous. 

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

"I know, so Glendonans informed me. Well, I'm very glad to hear it. The place has been standing empty far too long, and that is worse for anew house than an old house. There's not much money to spend on iteither, unless we can make sure of a good tenant. How did you hearabout it?"

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

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

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

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

"Well, that's all right, " said Dickson. "I don't mind spending alittle money myself if the place suits me. But of that, of course, I'mnot yet certain, for I've only had a glimpse of the outside. I wantedto get into the policies, but a man at the lodge wouldn't let me. They're a mighty uncivil lot down there. "

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

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

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

"They're foreigners. "

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

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

Dr. Loudon laughed. "I dare say Dobson is a rough diamond. There'sworse folk in the world all the same, but I don't think he will want tostay. He only went there to pass the time till he heard from hisbrother in Vancouver. He's a roving spirit, and will be off overseasagain. "

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

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

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

Mr. Loudon looked puzzled. "I quite see that. But I don't think it'spossible. You see, I have to consult the owners and get their consentto a lease. Of course they have the general purpose of letting, but--well, they're queer folk the Kennedys, " and his face wore thehalf-embarrassed smile of an honest man preparing to make confidences. "When poor Mr. Quentin died, the place went to his two sisters in jointownership. A very bad arrangement, as you can imagine. It isn'tentailed, and I've always been pressing them to sell, but so far theywon't hear of it. They both married Englishmen, so it will take a dayor two to get in touch with them. One, Mrs. Stukely, lives inDevonshire. The other--Miss Katie that was--married Sir FrancesMorewood, the general, and I hear that she's expected back in Londonnext Monday from the Riviera. I'll wire and write first thingto-morrow morning. But you must give me a day or two. "

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

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

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

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

"Not a soul. "

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

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

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

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

"I really don't know what you will think of me, Mr. McCunn. Here areyou, coming to do us all a kindness, and lease that infernal whiteelephant, and here have I been steadily hoaxing you for the last fiveminutes. I humbly ask your pardon. Set it down to the loyalty of anold family lawyer. Now, I am going to tell you the truth and take youinto our confidence, for I know we are safe with you. The Kennedysare--always have been--just a wee bit queer. Old inbred stock, youknow. They will produce somebody like poor Mr. Quentin, who was assane as you or me, but as a rule in every generation there is onemember of the family--or more--who is just a little bit---" and hetapped his forehead. "Nothing violent, you understand, but just notquite 'wise and world-like, ' as the old folk say. Well, there's acertain old lady, an aunt of Mr. Quentin and his sisters, who hasalways been about tenpence in the shilling. Usually she lives atBournemouth, but one of her crazes is a passion for Huntingtower, andthe Kennedys have always humoured her and had her to stay every spring. When the House was shut up that became impossible, but this year shetook such a craving to come back, that Lady Morewood asked me toarrange it. It had to be kept very quiet, but the poor old thing isperfectly harmless, and just sits and knits with her maid and looks outof the seaward windows. Now you see why I can't take you thereto-morrow. I have to get rid of the old lady, who in any case wastravelling south early next week. Do you understand?"

"Perfectly, " said Dickson with some fervour. He had learned exactlywhat he wanted. The factor was telling him lies. Now he knew where toplace Mr. Loudon. 

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

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

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

"That would explain the foreigners. "

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

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

"Oh, there's no fear of that. Besides, I've a position in thiscountry--Deputy Fiscal and so forth--and a friend of the ChiefConstable. I think I may be trusted to do a little private explainingif the need arose. "

"I see, " said Dickson. He saw, indeed, a great deal which would givehim food for furious thought. "Well, I must possess my soul inpatience. Here's my Glasgow address, and I look to you to send me atelegram whenever you're ready for me. I'm at the Salutation to-night, and go home to-morrow with the first train. Wait a minute"--and hepulled out his watch--"there's a train stops at Auchenlochan at 10. 17. I think I'll catch that.... Well Mr. Loudon, I'm very much obliged toyou, and I'm glad to think that it'll no' be long till we renew ouracquaintance. "

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

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

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

He had crossed the bridge of Lochan and was climbing the steep ascentwhich led to the heathy plateau separating that stream from the Garplebefore he had got his mind quite clear on the case. FIRST, Loudon wasin the plot, whatever it was; responsible for the details of the girl'simprisonment, but not the main author. That must be the Unknown who wasstill to come, from whom Spidel took his orders. Dobson was probablyLoudon's special henchman, working directly under him. SECONDLY, theimmediate object had been the jewels, and they were happily safe in thevaults of the incorruptible Mackintosh. But, THIRD--and this only onSaskia's evidences--the worst danger to her began with the arrival ofthe Unknown. What could that be? Probably, kidnapping. He wasprepared to believe anything of people like Bolsheviks. And, FOURTH, this danger was due within the next day or two. Loudon had been quitewilling to let him into the house and to sack all the watchers within aweek from that date. The natural and right thing was to summon the aidof the law, but, FIFTH, that would be a slow business with Loudon ableto put spokes in the wheels and befog the authorities, and the mischiefwould be done before a single policeman showed his face in Dalquharter. Therefore, SIXTH, he and Heritage must hold the fort in the meantime, and he would send a wire to his lawyer, Mr. Caw, to get to work withthe constabulary. SEVENTH, he himself was probably free from suspicionin both Loudon's and Dobson's minds as a harmless fool. But thatfreedom would not survive his reappearance in Dalquharter. He couldsay, to be sure, that he had come back to see his auntie, but thatwould not satisfy the watchers, since, so far as they knew, he was theonly man outside the gang who was aware that people were dwelling inthe House. They would not tolerate his presence in the neighbourhood. 

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

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

The moon had gone down, and the quest was not easy. Dickson had cometo the conclusion that he was on the wrong road, when he was summonedby a voice which seemed to arise out of the ground. 

"Who goes there?"

"What's that you say?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dougal grunted, but clearly he approved, for from that moment hetreated Dickson with a new respect. Formerly when he had referred tohim at all it had been as "auld McCunn. " Now it was "Mister McCunn. "He was given rank as a worthy civilian ally. The bivouac was acheerful place in the wet night. A great fire of pine roots and oldpaling posts hissed in the fine rain, and around it crouched severalurchins busy making oatmeal cakes in the embers. On one side arespectable lean-to had been constructed by nailing a plank to twofir-trees, running sloping poles thence to the ground, and thatchingthe whole with spruce branches and heather. On the other side twosmall dilapidated home-made tents were pitched. Dougal motioned hiscompanion into the lean-to, where they had some privacy from the restof the band. 

"Well, what's your news?" Dickson asked. He noticed that theChieftain seemed to have been comprehensively in the wars, for apartfrom the bandage on his jaw, he had numerous small cuts on his brow, and a great rent in one of his shirt sleeves. Also he appeared to begoing lame, and when he spoke a new gap was revealed in his large teeth. 

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

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

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

"What happened?' Dickson asked excitedly. 

"They were four muckle men against six laddies, and they thought theyhad an easy job! Little they kenned the Gorbals Die-Hards! I had beenexpectin' something of the kind, and had made my plans. They firsttried to pu' down our tents and burn them. I let them get within fiveyards, reservin' my fire. The first volley--stones from our hands andour catties--halted them, and before they could recover three of us hadgot hold o' burnin' sticks frae the fire and were lammin' into them. We kinnled their claes, and they fell back swearin' and stampin' to getthe fire out. Then I gave the word and we were on them wi' our pales, usin' the points accordin' to instructions. My orders was to keep agood distance, for if they had grippit one o' us he'd ha' been donefor. They were roarin' mad by now, and twae had out their knives, butthey couldn't do muckle, for it was gettin' dark, and they didn't kenthe ground like us, and were aye trippin' and tumblin'. But theypressed us hard, and one o' them landed me an awful clype on the jaw. They were still aiming at our tents, and I saw that if they got nearthe fire again it would be the end o' us. So I blew my whistle forThomas Yownie, who was in command o' the other half of us, withinstructions to fall upon their rear. That brought Thomas up, and thetinklers had to face round about and fight a battle on two fronts. Wecharged them and they broke, and the last seen o' them they werecoolin' their burns in the Garple. "

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

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

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

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

"What's the news from the House?"

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

Dickson nodded. "They were hunting me. "

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

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

Dougal nodded. "So I was thinkin'. The lassie wasn't muckle theeasier for gettin' rid o' them. I didn't just quite understand whatshe said to Mr. Heritage, for they were aye wanderin' into foreignlangwidges, but it seems she's terrible feared o' somebody that mayturn up any moment. What's the reason I can't say. She's maybe got asecret, or maybe it's just that she's ower bonny. "

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER VIII

HOW A MIDDLE-AGED CRUSADER ACCEPTED A CHALLENGE

The first cocks had just begun to crow and clocks had not yet struckfive when Dickson presented himself at Mrs. Morran's back door. Thatactive woman had already been half an hour out of bed, and was drinkingher morning cup of tea in the kitchen. She received him withcordiality, nay, with relief. 

"Eh, sir, but I'm glad to see ye back. Guid kens what's gaun on at theHoose thae days. Mr. Heritage left here yestreen, creepin' round bydyke-sides and berry-busses like a wheasel. It's a mercy to get aresponsible man in the place. I aye had a notion ye wad come back, for, thinks I, nevoy Dickson is no the yin to desert folk introuble.... Whaur's my wee kist?.... Lost, ye say. That's a peety, forit's been my cheesebox thae thirty year. "

Dickson ascended to the loft, having announced his need of at leastthree hours' sleep. As he rolled into bed his mind was curiously atease. He felt equipped for any call that might be made on him. ThatMrs. Morran should welcome him back as a resource in need gave him anew assurance of manhood. 

He woke between nine and ten to the sound of rain lashing against thegarret window. As he picked his way out of the mazes of sleep andrecovered the skein of his immediate past, he found to his disgust thathe had lost his composure. All the flock of fears, that had left himwhen on the top of the Glasgow tram-car he had made the great decision, had flown back again and settled like black crows on his spirit. He wasrunning a horrible risk and all for a whim. What business had he to bemixing himself up in things he did not understand? It might be a hugemistake, and then he would be a laughing stock; for a moment herepented his telegram to Mr. Caw. Then he recanted that suspicion;there could be no mistake, except the fatal one that he had taken on ajob too big for him. He sat on the edge of the bed and shivered withhis eyes on the grey drift of rain. He would have felt morestout-hearted had the sun been shining. 

He shuffled to the window and looked out. There in the village streetwas Dobson, and Dobson saw him. That was a bad blunder, for his reasontold him that he should have kept his presence in Dalquharter hid aslong as possible. There was a knock at the cottage door, and presentlyMrs. Morran appeared. 

"It's the man frae the inn, " she announced. "He's wantin' a word wi'ye. Speakin' verra ceevil, too. "

"Tell him to come up, " said Dickson. He might as well get theinterview over. Dobson had seen Loudon and must know of theirconversation. The sight of himself back again when he had pretended tobe off to Glasgow would remove him effectually from the class of theunsuspected. He wondered just what line Dobson would take. 

The innkeeper obtruded his bulk through the low door. His face waswrinkled into a smile, which nevertheless left the small eyes ungenial. His voice had a loud vulgar cordiality. Suddenly Dickson was consciousof a resemblance, a resemblance to somebody whom he had recently seen. It was Loudon. There was the same thrusting of the chin forward, thesame odd cheek-bones, the same unctuous heartiness of speech. Theinnkeeper, well washed and polished and dressed, would be no bad copyof the factor. They must be near kin, perhaps brothers. 

"Good morning to you, Mr. McCunn. Man, it's pitifu' weather, and justwhen the farmers are wanting a dry seed-bed. What brings ye back here?Ye travel the country like a drover. "

"Oh, I'm a free man now and I took a fancy to this place. An idle bodyhas nothing to do but please himself. "

"I hear ye're taking a lease of Huntingtower?"

"Now who told you that?"

"Just the clash of the place. Is it true?"

Dickson looked sly and a little annoyed. 

"I had maybe had half a thought of it, but I'll thank you not to repeatthe story. It's a big house for a plain man like me, and I haven'tproperly inspected it. "

"Oh, I'll keep mum, never fear. But if ye've that sort of notion, Ican understand you not being able to keep away from the place. "

"That's maybe the fact, " Dickson admitted. 

"Well! It's just on that point I want a word with you. " The innkeeperseated himself unbidden on the chair which held Dickson's modestraiment. He leaned forward and with a coarse forefinger tappedDickson's pyjama-clad knees. "I can't have ye wandering about theplace. I'm very sorry, but I've got my orders from Mr. Loudon. So ifyou think that by bidin' here you can see more of the House and thepolicies, ye're wrong, Mr. McCunn. It can't be allowed, for we're no'ready for ye yet. D'ye understand? That's Mr. Loudon's orders.... Now, would it not be a far better plan if ye went back to Glasgow andcame back in a week's time? I'm thinking of your own comfort, Mr. McCunn. "

Dickson was cogitating hard. This man was clearly instructed to getrid of him at all costs for the next few days. The neighbourhood hadto be cleared for some black business. The tinklers had been deputedto drive out the Gorbals Die-Hards, and as for Heritage they seemed tohave lost track of him. He, Dickson, was now the chief object of theircare. But what could Dobson do if he refused? He dared not show histrue hand. Yet he might, if sufficiently irritated. It becameDickson's immediate object to get the innkeeper to reveal himself byrousing his temper. He did not stop to consider the policy of thiscourse; he imperatively wanted things cleared up and the issue madeplain. 

"I'm sure I'm much obliged to you for thinking so much about mycomfort, " he said in a voice into which he hoped he had insinuated asneer. "But I'm bound to say you're awful suspicious folk about here. You needn't be feared for your old policies. There's plenty of nicewalks about the roads, and I want to explore the sea-coast. "

The last words seemed to annoy the innkeeper. "That's no' allowedeither, " he said. "The shore's as private as the policies.... Well, Iwish ye joy tramping the roads in the glaur. "

"It's a queer thing, " said Dickson meditatively, "that you should keepa hotel and yet be set on discouraging people from visiting thisneighbourhood. I tell you what, I believe that hotel of yours is allsham. You've some other business, you and these lodgekeepers, and inmy opinion it's not a very creditable one. "

"What d'ye mean?" asked Dobson sharply. 

"Just what I say. You must expect a body to be suspicious, if youtreat him as you're treating me. " Loudon must have told this man thestory with which he had been fobbed off about the half-witted Kennedyrelative. Would Dobson refer to that?

The innkeeper had an ugly look on his face, but he controlled histemper with an effort. 

"There's no cause for suspicion, " he said. "As far as I'm concernedit's all honest and above-board. "

"It doesn't look like it. It looks as if you were hiding something upin the House which you don't want me to see. "

Dobson jumped from his chair, his face pale with anger. A man inpyjamas on a raw morning does not feel at this bravest, and Dicksonquailed under the expectation of assault. But even in his fright herealized that Loudon could not have told Dobson the tale of thehalf-witted lady. The last remark had cut clean through all camouflageand reached the quick. 

"What the hell d'ye mean?" he cried. "Ye're a spy, are ye? Ye fatlittle fool, for two cents I'd wring your neck. "

Now it is an odd trait of certain mild people that a suspicion ofthreat, a hint of bullying, will rouse some unsuspected obstinacy deepdown in their souls. The insolence of the man's speech woke a quietbut efficient little devil in Dickson. 

"That's a bonny tone to adopt in addressing a gentleman. If you'venothing to hide what way are you so touchy? I can't be a spy unlessthere's something to spy on. "

The innkeeper pulled himself together. He was apparently acting oninstructions, and had not yet come to the end of them. He made anattempt at a smile. 

"I'm sure I beg your pardon if I spoke too hot. But it nettled me tohear ye say that.... I'll be quite frank with ye, Mr. McCunn, and, believe me, I'm speaking in your best interests. I give ye my wordthere's nothing wrong up at the House. I'm on the side of the law, andwhen I tell ye the whole story ye'll admit it. But I can't tell it yeyet.... This is a wild, lonely bit, and very few folk bide in it. Andthese are wild times, when a lot of queer things happen that never getinto the papers. I tell ye it's for your own good to leave Dalquharterfor the present. More I can't say, but I ask ye to look at it as asensible man. Ye're one that's accustomed to a quiet life and no'meant for rough work. Ye'll do no good if you stay, and, maybe, ye'llland yourself in bad trouble. "

"Mercy on us!" Dickson exclaimed. "What is it you're expecting? SinnFein?"

The innkeeper nodded. "Something like that. "

"Did you ever hear the like? I never did think much of the Irish. "

"Then ye'll take my advice and go home? Tell ye what, I'll drive ye tothe station. "

Dickson got up from the bed, found his new safety-razor and began tostrop it. "No, I think I'll bide. If you're right there'll be more tosee than glaury roads. "

"I'm warning ye, fair and honest. Ye... Can't... Be... Allowed... To... Stay... Here!"

"Well I never!" said Dickson. "Is there any law in Scotland, thinkyou, that forbids a man to stop a day or two with his auntie?"

"Ye'll stay?"

"Ay, I'll stay. "

"By God, we'll see about that. "

For a moment Dickson thought that he would be attacked, and he measuredthe distance that separated him from the peg whence hung his waterproofwith the pistol in its pocket. But the man restrained himself andmoved to the door. There he stood and cursed him with a violence and avenom which Dickson had not believed possible. The full hand was on thetable now. 

"Ye wee pot-bellied, pig-heided Glasgow grocer" (I paraphrase), "wouldyou set up to defy me? I tell ye, I'll make ye rue the day ye wereborn. " His parting words were a brilliant sketch of the maltreatment instore for the body of the defiant one. 

"Impident dog, " said Dickson without heat. He noted with pleasure thatthe innkeeper hit his head violently against the low lintel, and, missing a step, fell down the loft stairs into the kitchen, where Mrs. Morran's tongue could be heard speeding him trenchantly from thepremises. 

Left to himself, Dickson dressed leisurely, and by and by went down tothe kitchen and watched his hostess making broth. The fracas withDobson had done him all the good in the world, for it had cleared theproblem of dubieties and had put an edge on his temper. But herealized that it made his continued stay in the cottage undesirable. He was now the focus of all suspicion, and the innkeeper would be asgood as his word and try to drive him out of the place by force. Kidnapping, most likely, and that would be highly unpleasant, besidesputting an end to his usefulness. Clearly he must join the others. Thesoul of Dickson hungered at the moment for human companionship. Hefelt that his courage would be sufficient for any team-work, but mightwaver again if he were left to play a lone hand. 

He lunched nobly off three plates of Mrs. Morran's kail--an earlylunch, for that lady, having breakfasted at five, partook of the middaymeal about eleven. Then he explored her library, and settled himselfby the fire with a volume of Covenanting tales, entitled GLEANINGSAMONG THE MOUNTAINS. It was a most practical work for one in hisposition, for it told how various eminent saints of that era escapedthe attention of Claverhouse's dragoons. Dickson stored up in hismemory several of the incidents in case they should come in handy. Hewondered if any of his forbears had been Covenanters; it comforted himto think that some old progenitor might have hunkered behind turf wallsand been chased for his life in the heather. "Just like me, " hereflected. "But the dragoons weren't foreigners, and there was a kindof decency about Claverhouse too. "

About four o'clock Dougal presented himself in the back kitchen. He wasan even wilder figure than usual, for his bare legs were mud to theknees, his kilt and shirt clung sopping to his body, and, having losthis hat, his wet hair was plastered over his eyes. Mrs. Morran said, not unkindly, that he looked "like a wull-cat glowerin' through a whinbuss. "

"How are you, Dougal?" Dickson asked genially. "Is the peace of naturesmoothing out the creases in your poor little soul?"

"What's that ye say?"

"Oh, just what I heard a man say in Glasgow. How have you got on?"

"No' so bad. Your telegram was sent this mornin'. Auld Bill took itin to Kirkmichael. That's the first thing. Second, Thomas Yownie hastook a party to get down the box from the station. He got Mrs. Sempills' powny, and he took the box ayont the Laver by the ford at theherd's hoose and got it on to the shore maybe a mile ayont Laverfoot. He managed to get the machine up as far as the water, but he could getno farther, for ye'll no' get a machine over the wee waterfa' justbefore the Laver ends in the sea. So he sent one o' the men back withit to Mrs. Sempill, and, since the box was ower heavy to carry, heopened it and took the stuff across in bits. It's a' safe in the holeat the foot o' the Huntingtower rocks, and he reports that the rain hasdone it no harm. Thomas has made a good job of it. Ye'll no' fickleThomas Yownie. "

"And what about your camp on the moor?"

"It was broke up afore daylight. Some of our things we've got with us, but most is hid near at hand. The tents are in the auld wife'shen-hoose. " and he jerked his disreputable head in the direction of theback door. 

"Have the tinklers been back?"

"Aye. They turned up about ten o'clock, no doubt intendin' murder. Ileft Wee Jaikie to watch developments. They fund him sittin' on astone, greetin' sore. When he saw them, he up and started to run, andthey cried on him to stop, but he wouldn't listen. Then they cried outwhere were the rest, and he telled them they were feared for theirlives and had run away. After that they offered to catch him, butye'll no' catch Jaikie in a hurry. When he had run round about themtill they were wappit, he out wi' his catty and got one o' them on thelug. Syne he made for the Laverfoot and reported. "

"Man, Dougal, you've managed fine. Now I've something to tell you, "and Dickson recounted his interview with the innkeeper. "I don't thinkit's safe for me to bide here, and if I did, I wouldn't be any use, hiding in cellars and such like, and not daring to stir a foot. I'mcoming with you to the House. Now tell me how to get there. "

Dougal agreed to this view. "There's been nothing doing at the Hoosethe day, but they're keepin' a close watch on the policies. The cripusmay come any moment. There's no doubt, Mr. McCunn, that ye're indanger, for they'll serve you as the tinklers tried to serve us. Listen to me. Ye'll walk up the station road, and take the second turnon your left, a wee grass road that'll bring ye to the ford at theherd's hoose. Cross the Laver--there's a plank bridge--and takestraight across the moor in the direction of the peakit hill they callGrey Carrick. Ye'll come to a big burn, which ye must follow till yeget to the shore. Then turn south, keepin' the water's edge till yereach the Laver, where you'll find one o' us to show ye the rest of theroad.... I must be off now, and I advise ye not to be slow of startin', for wi' this rain the water's risin' quick. It's a mercy it's suchcoarse weather, for it spoils the veesibility. "

"Auntie Phemie, " said Dickson a few minutes later, "will you oblige meby coming for a short walk?"

"The man's daft, " was the answer. 

"I'm not. I'll explain if you'll listen.... You see, " he concluded, "the dangerous bit for me is just the mile out of the village. They'llno' be so likely to try violence if there's somebody with me that couldbe a witness. Besides, they'll maybe suspect less if they just see adecent body out for a breath of air with his auntie. "

Mrs. Morran said nothing, but retired, and returned presently equippedfor the road. She had indued her feet with goloshes and pinned up herskirts till they looked like some demented Paris mode. An ancientbonnet was tied under her chin with strings, and her equipment wascompleted by an exceedingly smart tortoise-shell-handled umbrella, which, she explained, had been a Christmas present from her son. 

"I'll convoy ye as far as the Laverfoot herd's, " she announced. "Thewife's a freend o' mine and will set me a bit on the road back. Yeneedna fash for me. I'm used to a' weathers. "

The rain had declined to a fine drizzle, but a tearing wind from thesouth-west scoured the land. Beyond the shelter of the trees the moorwas a battle-ground of gusts which swept the puddles into spindrift andgave to the stagnant bog-pools the appearance of running water. Thewind was behind the travellers, and Mrs. Morran, like a full-riggedship, was hustled before it, so that Dickson, who had linked arms withher, was sometimes compelled to trot. 

"However will you get home, mistress?" he murmured anxiously. 

"Fine. The wind will fa' at the darkenin'. This'll be a sair time forships at sea. "

Not a soul was about, so they breasted the ascent of the station roadand turned down the grassy bypath to the Laverfoot herd's. The herd'swife saw them from afar and was at the door to receive them. 

"Megsty! Phemie Morran!" she shrilled. "Wha wad ettle to see ye on aday like this? John's awa' at Dumfries, buyin' tups. Come in, thebaith o' ye. The kettle's on the boil. "

"This is my nevoy Dickson, " said Mrs. Morran. "He's gaun to stretchhis legs ayont the burn, and come back by the Ayr road. But I'll beblithe to tak' my tea wi' ye, Elspeth.... Now, Dickson, I'll expect yehame on the chap o' seeven. "

He crossed the rising stream on a swaying plank and struck into themoorland, as Dougal had ordered, keeping the bald top of Grey Carrickbefore him. In that wild place with the tempest battling overhead hehad no fear of human enemies. Steadily he covered the ground, till hereached the west-flowing burn, that was to lead him to the shore. Hefound it an entertaining companion, swirling into black pools, foamingover little falls, and lying in dark canal-like stretches in the flats. Presently it began to descend steeply in a narrow green gully, wherethe going was bad, and Dickson, weighted with pack and waterproof, hadmuch ado to keep his feet on the sodden slopes. Then, as he rounded acrook of hill, the ground fell away from his feet, the burn swept in awater-slide to the boulders of the shore, and the storm-tossed sea laybefore him. 

It was now that he began to feel nervous. Being on the coast againseemed to bring him inside his enemies' territory, and had not Dobsonspecifically forbidden the shore? It was here that they might belooking for him. He felt himself out of condition, very wet and verywarm, but he attained a creditable pace, for he struck a road which hadbeen used by manure-carts collecting seaweed. There were faint markson it, which he took to be the wheels of Dougal's "machine" carryingthe provision-box. Yes. On a patch of gravel there was a double setof tracks, which showed how it had returned to Mrs. Sempill. He wasexposed to the full force of the wind, and the strenuousness of hisbodily exertions kept his fears quiescent, till the cliffs on his leftsunk suddenly and the valley of the Laver lay before him. 

A small figure rose from the shelter of a boulder, the warrior who borethe name of Old Bill. He saluted gravely. 

"Ye're just in time. The water has rose three inches since I've beenhere. Ye'd better strip. "

Dickson removed his boots and socks. "Breeks too, " commanded the boy;"there's deep holes ayont thae stanes. "

Dickson obeyed, feeling very chilly, and rather improper. "Now followme, " said the guide. The next moment he was stepping delicately onvery sharp pebbles, holding on to the end of the scout's pole, while anicy stream ran to his knees. 

The Laver as it reaches the sea broadens out to the width of fifty orsixty yards and tumbles over little shelves of rock to meet the waves. Usually it is shallow, but now it was swollen to an average depth of afoot or more, and there were deeper pockets. Dickson made the passageslowly and miserably, sometimes crying out with pain as his toes strucka sharper flint, once or twice sitting down on a boulder to blow like awhale, once slipping on his knees and wetting the strange excrescenceabout his middle, which was his tucked-up waterproof. But the crossingwas at length achieved, and on a patch of sea-pinks he dried himselfperfunctorily and hastily put on his garments. Old Bill, who seemed tobe regardless of wind or water, squatted beside him and whistledthrough his teeth. 

Above them hung the sheer cliffs of the Huntingtower cape, so sheerthat a man below was completely hidden from any watcher on the top. Dickson's heart fell, for he did not profess to be a cragsman and hadindeed a horror of precipitous places. But as the two scrambled alongthe foot, they passed deep-cut gullies and fissures, most of themunclimbable, but offering something more hopeful than the face. At oneof these Old Bill halted, and led the way up and over a chaos of fallenrock and loose sand. The grey weather had brought on the darkprematurely, and in the half-light it seemed that this ravine wasblocked by an unscalable nose of rock. Here Old Bill whistled, andthere was a reply from above. Round the corner of the nose came Dougal. 

"Up here, " he commanded. "It was Mr. Heritage that fund this road. "

Dickson and his guide squeezed themselves between the nose and thecliff up a spout of stones, and found themselves in an upper storey ofthe gulley, very steep, but practicable even for one who was nocragsman. This in turn ran out against a wall up which there led onlya narrow chimney. At the foot of this were two of the Die-Hards, andthere were others above, for a rope hung down, by the aid of which apackage was even now ascending. 

"That's the top, " said Dougal, pointing to the rim of sky, "and that'sthe last o' the supplies. " Dickson noticed that he spoke in a whisper, and that all the movements of the Die-Hards were judicious andstealthy. "Now, it's your turn. Take a good grip o' the rope, andye'll find plenty holes for your feet. It's no more than ten yards andye're well held above. "

Dickson made the attempt and found it easier than he expected. The onlytrouble was his pack and waterproof, which had a tendency to catch onjags of rock. A hand was reached out to him, he was pulled over theedge, and then pushed down on his face. When he lifted his head Dougaland the others had joined him, and the whole company of the Die-Hardswas assembled on a patch of grass which was concealed from the landwardview by a thicket of hazels. Another, whom he recognized as Heritage, was coiling up the rope. 

"We'd better get all the stuff into the old Tower for the present, "Heritage was saying. "It's too risky to move it into the House now. We'll need the thickest darkness for that, after the moon is down. Quick, for the beastly thing will be rising soon, and before that wemust all be indoors. "

Then he turned to Dickson and gripped his hand. "You're a high classof sportsman, Dogson. And I think you're just in time. "

"Are they due to-night?" Dickson asked in an excited whisper, faintagainst the wind. 

"I don't know about They. But I've got a notion that some devilishqueer things will happen before to-morrow morning. "

CHAPTER IX

THE FIRST BATTLE OF THE CRUIVES

The old keep of Huntingtower stood some three hundred yards from theedge of the cliffs, a gnarled wood of hazels and oaks protecting itfrom the sea-winds. It was still in fair preservation, having tilltwenty years before been an adjunct of the house of Dalquharter, andused as kitchen, buttery, and servants' quarters. There had beenresidential wings attached, dating from the mid-eighteenth century, butthese had been pulled down and used for the foundations of the newmansion. Now it stood a lonely shell, its three storeys, each a singlegreat room connected by a spiral stone staircase, being dedicated tolumber and the storage of produce. But it was dry and intact, itsmassive oak doors defied any weapon short of artillery, its narrowunglazed windows would scarcely have admitted a cat--a placeportentously strong, gloomy, but yet habitable. 

Dougal opened the main door with a massy key. "The lassie fund it, " hewhispered to Dickson, "somewhere about the kitchen--and I guessed itwas the key o' this castle. I was thinkin' that if things got ower hotit would be a good plan to flit here. Change our base, like. " TheChieftain's occasional studies in war had trained his tongue to amilitary jargon. 

In the ground room lay a fine assortment of oddments, including oldbedsteads and servants' furniture, and what looked like ancientdiscarded deerskin rugs. Dust lay thick over everything, and theyheard the scurry of rats. A dismal place, indeed, but Dickson feltonly its strangeness. The comfort of being back again among allies hadquickened his spirit to an adventurous mood. The old lords ofHuntingtower had once quarrelled and revelled and plotted here, and nowhere he was at the same game. Present and past joined hands over thegulf of years. The saga of Huntingtower was not ended. 

The Die-Hards had brought with them their scanty bedding, theirlanterns and camp-kettles. These and the provisions from Mearns Streetwere stowed away in a corner. 

"Now for the Hoose, men, " said Dougal. They stole over the downs tothe shrubbery, and Dickson found himself almost in the same place as hehad lain in three days before, watching a dusky lawn, while the wetearth soaked through his trouser knees and the drip from the azaleastrickled over his spine. Two of the boys fetched the ladder and placedit against the verandah wall. Heritage first, then Dickson, dartedacross the lawn and made the ascent. The six scouts followed, and theladder was pulled up and hidden among the verandah litter. For a secondthe whole eight stood still and listened. There was no sound exceptthe murmur of the now falling wind and the melancholy hooting of owls. The garrison had entered the Dark Tower. 

A council in whispers was held in the garden-room. 

"Nobody must show a light, " Heritage observed. "It mustn't be knownthat we're here. Only the Princess will have a lamp. Yes"--this inanswer to Dickson--"she knows that we're coming--you too. We'll huntfor quarters later upstairs. You scouts, you must picket everypossible entrance. The windows are safe, I think, for they are lockedfrom the inside. So is the main door. But there's the verandah door, of which they have a key, and the back door beside the kitchen, and I'mnot at all sure that there's not a way in by the boiler-house. Youunderstand. We're holding his place against all comers. We mustbarricade the danger points. The headquarters of the garrison will bein the hall, where a scout must be always on duty. You've all gotwhistles? Well, if there's an attempt on the verandah door the picketwill whistle once, if at the back door twice, if anywhere else threetimes, and it's everybody's duty, except the picket who whistles, toget back to the hall for orders. "

"That's so, " assented Dougal. 

"If the enemy forces an entrance we must overpower him. Any means youlike. Sticks or fists, and remember if it's a scrap in the dark tomake for the man's throat. I expect you little devils have eyes likecats. The scoundrels must be kept away from the ladies at all costs. If the worst comes to the worst, the Princess has a revolver. "

"So have I, " said Dickson. "I got it in Glasgow. "

"The deuce you have! Can you use it?"

"I don't know. "

"Well, you can hand it over to me, if you like. But it oughtn't tocome to shooting, if it's only the three of them. The eight of usshould be able to manage three and one of them lame. If the othersturn up--well, God help us all! But we've got to make sure of onething, that no one lays hands on the Princess so long as there's one ofus left alive to hit out. "

"Ye needn't be feared for that, " said Dougal. There was no light inthe room, but Dickson was certain that the morose face of the Chieftainwas lit with unholy joy. 

"Then off with you. Mr. McCunn and I will explain matters to theladies. "

When they were alone, Heritage's voice took a different key. "We're infor it, Dogson, old man. There's no doubt these three scoundrelsexpect reinforcements at any moment, and with them will be one who isthe devil incarnate. He's the only thing on earth that that brave girlfears. It seems he is in love with her and has pestered her for years. She hated the sight of him, but he wouldn't take no, and being apowerful man--rich and well-born and all the rest of it--she had adesperate time. I gather he was pretty high in favour with the oldCourt. Then when the Bolsheviks started he went over to them, likeplenty of other grandees, and now he's one of their chief brains--noneof your callow revolutionaries, but a man of the world, a kind ofgenius, she says, who can hold his own anywhere. She believes him tobe in this country, and only waiting the right moment to turn up. Oh, it sounds ridiculous, I know, in Britain in the twentieth century, butI learned in the war that civilization anywhere is a very thin crust. There are a hundred ways by which that kind of fellow could bamboozleall our law and police and spirit her away. That's the kind of crowdwe have to face. "

"Did she say what he was like in appearance?"

"A face like an angel--a lost angel, she says. "

Dickson suddenly had an inspiration. 

"D'you mind the man you said was an Australian--at Kirkmichael? Ithought myself he was a foreigner. Well, he was asking for a place hecalled Darkwater, and there's no sich place in the countryside. Ibelieve he meant Dalquharter. I believe he's the man she's feared of. "

A gasped "By Jove!" came from the darkness. "Dogson, you've hit it. That was five days ago, and he must have got on the right trail by thistime. He'll be here to-night. That's why the three have been lying soquiet to-day. Well, we'll go through with it, even if we haven't adog's chance! Only I'm sorry that you should be mixed up in such ahopeless business. "

"Why me more than you?"

"Because it's all pure pride and joy for me to be here. Good God, Iwouldn't be elsewhere for worlds. It's the great hour of my life. Iwould gladly die for her. "

"Tuts, that's no' the way to talk, man. Time enough to speak aboutdying when there's no other way out. I'm looking at this thing in abusiness way. We'd better be seeing the ladies. "

They groped into the pitchy hall, somewhere in which a Die-Hard was onpicket, and down the passage to the smoking-room. Dickson blinked inthe light of a very feeble lamp and Heritage saw that his hands werecumbered with packages. He deposited them on a sofa and made a duckingbow. 

"I've come back, Mem, and glad to be back. Your jools are in safekeeping, and not all the blagyirds in creation could get at them. I'vecome to tell you to cheer up--a stout heart to a stey brae, as the oldfolk say. I'm handling this affair as a business proposition, so don'tbe feared, Mem. If there are enemies seeking you, there's friends onthe road too.... Now, you'll have had your dinner, but you'd maybe likea little dessert. "

He spread before them a huge box of chocolates, the best that MearnsStreet could produce, a box of candied fruits, and another of saltedalmonds. Then from his hideously overcrowded pockets he took anotherbox, which he offered rather shyly. "That's some powder for yourcomplexion. They tell me that ladies find it useful whiles. "

The girl's strained face watched him at first in mystification, andthen broke slowly into a smile. Youth came back into it, the smilechanged to a laugh, a low rippling laugh like far-away bells. She tookboth his hands. 

"You are kind, " she said, "you are kind and brave. You are a de-ar. "

And then she kissed him. 

Now, as far as Dickson could remember, no one had ever kissed himexcept his wife. The light touch of her lips on his forehead was likethe pressing of an electric button which explodes some powerful chargeand alters the face of a countryside. He blushed scarlet; then hewanted to cry; then he wanted to sing. An immense exhilaration seizedhim, and I am certain that if at that moment the serried ranks ofBolshevy had appeared in the doorway, Dickson would have hurled himselfupon them with a joyful shout. 

Cousin Eugenie was earnestly eating chocolates, but Saskia had otherbusiness. 

"You will hold the house?" she asked. 

"Please God, yes, " said Heritage. "I look at it this way. The time isvery near when your three gaolers expect the others, their masters. They have not troubled you in the past two days as they threatened, because it was not worth while. But they won't want to let you out oftheir sight in the final hours, so they will almost certainly come hereto be on the spot. Our object is to keep them out and confuse theirplans. Somewhere in this neighbourhood, probably very near, is the manyou fear most. If we nonplus the three watchers, they'll have torevise their policy, and that means a delay, and every hour's delay isa gain. Mr. McCunn has found out that the factor Loudon is in theplot, and he has purchase enough, it seems, to blanket for a time anyappeal to the law. But Mr. McCunn has taken steps to circumvent him, and in twenty-four hours we should have help here. "

"I do not want the help of your law, " the girl interrupted. "It willentangle me. '

"Not a bit of it, " said Dickson cheerfully. "You see, Mem, they'veclean lost track of the jools, and nobody knows where they are but me. I'm a truthful man, but I'll lie like a packman if I'm asked questions. For the rest, it's a question of kidnapping, I understand, and that's athing that's not to be allowed. My advice is to go to our beds and geta little sleep while there's a chance of it. The Gorbals Die-Hards aregrand watch-dogs. "

This view sounded so reasonable that it was at once acted upon. Theladies' chamber was next door to the smoking-room--what had been theold schoolroom. Heritage arranged with Saskia that the lamp was to bekept burning low, and that on no account were they to move unlesssummoned by him. Then he and Dickson made their way to the hall, wherethere was a faint glimmer from the moon in the upper unshutteredwindows--enough to reveal the figure of Wee Jaikie on duty at the footof the staircase. They ascended to the second floor, where, in a largeroom above the hall, Heritage had bestowed his pack. He had managed toopen a fold of the shutters, and there was sufficient light to see twobig mahogany bedsteads without mattresses or bedclothes, and wardrobesand chests of drawers sheeted in holland. Outside the wind was risingagain, but the rain had stopped. Angry watery clouds scurried acrossthe heavens. 

Dickson made a pillow of his waterproof, stretched himself on one ofthe bedsteads, and, so quiet was his conscience and so weary his bodyfrom the buffetings of the past days, was almost instantly asleep. Itseemed to him that he had scarcely closed his eyes when he was awakenedby Dougal's hand pinching his shoulder. He gathered that the moon wassetting, for the room was pitchy dark. 

"The three o' them is approachin' the kitchen door, " whispered theChieftain. "I seen them from a spy-hole I made out o' a ventilator. "

"Is it barricaded?" asked Heritage, who had apparently not been asleep. 

"Aye, but I've thought o' a far better plan. Why should we keep themout? They'll be safer inside. Listen! We might manage to get them inone at a time. If they can't get in at the kitchen door, they'll sendone o' them round to get in by another door and open to them. Thatgives us a chance to get them separated, and lock them up. There'swalth o' closets and hidy-holes all over the place, each with gooddoors and good keys to them. Supposin' we get the three o' them shutup--the others, when they come, will have nobody to guide them. Ofcourse some time or other the three will break out, but it may be owerlate for them. At present we're besieged and they're roamin' thecountry. Would it no' be far better if they were the ones lockit upand we were goin' loose?"

"Supposing they don't come in one at a time?" Dickson objected. 

"We'll make them, " said Dougal firmly. "There's no time to waste. Areye for it?"

"Yes, " said Heritage. "Who's at the kitchen door?"

"Peter Paterson. I told him no' to whistle, but to wait on me.... Keepyour boots off. Ye're better in your stockin' feet. Wait you in thehall and see ye're well hidden, for likely whoever comes in will have alantern. Just you keep quiet unless I give ye a cry. I've planned ita' out, and we're ready for them. "

Dougal disappeared, and Dickson and Heritage, with their boots tiedround their necks by their laces, crept out to the upper landing. Thehall was impenetrably dark, but full of voices, for the wind wastalking in the ceiling beams, and murmuring through the long passages. The walls creaked and muttered and little bits of plaster fluttereddown. The noise was an advantage for the game of hide-and-seek theyproposed to play, but it made it hard to detect the enemy's approach. Dickson, in order to get properly wakened, adventured as far as thesmoking-room. It was black with night, but below the door of theadjacent room a faint line of light showed where the Princess's lampwas burning. He advanced to the window, and heard distinctly a foot onthe grovel path that led to the verandah. This sent him back to thehall in search of Dougal, whom he encountered in the passage. That boycould certainly see in the dark, for he caught Dickson's wrist withouthesitation. 

"We've got Spittal in the wine-cellar, " he whispered triumphantly. "Thekitchen door was barricaded, and when they tried it, it wouldn't open. 'Bide here, ' says Dobson to Spittal, 'and we'll go round by anotherdoor and come back and open to ye. ' So off they went, and by that timePeter Paterson and me had the barricade down. As we expected, Spittaltries the key again and it opens quite easy. He comes in and locks itbehind him, and, Dobson having took away the lantern, he gropes his wayvery carefu' towards the kitchen. There's a point where thewine-cellar door and the scullery door are aside each other. He shouldhave taken the second, but I had it shut so he takes the first. PeterPaterson gave him a wee shove and he fell down the two-three steps intothe cellar, and we turned the key on him. Yon cellar has a grand doorand no windies. "

"And Dobson and Leon are at the verandah door? With a light?"

"Thomas Yownie's on duty there. Ye can trust him. Ye'll no fickleThomas Yownie. "

The next minutes were for Dickson a delirium of excitement notunpleasantly shot with flashes of doubt and fear. As a child he hadplayed hide-and-seek, and his memory had always cherished the delightsof the game. But how marvellous to play it thus in a great emptyhouse, at dark of night, with the heaven filled with tempest, and withdeath or wounds as the stakes!

He took refuge in a corner where a tapestry curtain and the side of aDutch awmry gave him shelter, and from where he stood he could see thegarden-room and the beginning of the tiled passage which led to theverandah door. That is to say, he could have seen these things ifthere had been any light, which there was not. He heard the softflitting of bare feet, for a delicate sound is often audible in a dinwhen a loud noise is obscured. Then a gale of wind blew towards him, as from an open door, and far away gleamed the flickering light of alantern. 

Suddenly the light disappeared and there was a clatter on the floor anda breaking of glass. Either the wind or Thomas Yownie. 

The verandah door was shut, a match spluttered and the lantern wasrelit. Dobson and Leon came into the hall, both clad in longmackintoshes which glistened from the weather. Dobson halted andlistened to the wind howling in the upper spaces. He cursed itbitterly, looked at his watch, and then made an observation which wokethe liveliest interest in Dickson lurking beside the awmry and Heritageensconced in the shadow of a window-seat. 

"He's late. He should have been here five minutes syne. It would be adirty road for his car. "

So the Unknown was coming that night. The news made Dickson the moreresolved to get the watchers under lock and key before reinforcementsarrived, and so put grit in their wheels. Then his party mustescape--flee anywhere so long as it was far from Dalquharter. 

"You stop here, " said Dobson, "I'll go down and let Spidel in. We wantanother lamp. Get the one that the women use, and for God's sake get amove on. "

The sound of his feet died in the kitchen passage and then rung againon the stone stairs. Dickson's ear of faith heard also the soft patterof naked feet as the Die-Hards preceded and followed him. He wasdelivering himself blind and bound into their hands. 

For a minute or two there was no sound but the wind, which had found aloose chimney cowl on the roof and screwed out of it an odd sound likethe drone of a bagpipe. Dickson, unable to remain any longer in oneplace, moved into the centre of the hall, believing that Leon had goneto the smoking-room. It was a dangerous thing to do, for suddenly amatch was lit a yard from him. He had the sense to drop low, and sowas out of the main glare of the light. The man with the matchapparently had no more, judging by his execrations. Dickson stood stockstill, longing for the wind to fall so that he might hear the sound ofthe fellow's boots on the stone floor. He gathered that they weremoving towards the smoking-room. 

"Heritage, " he whispered as loud as he dared, bet there was no answer. 

Then suddenly a moving body collided with him. He jumped a step backand then stood at attention. "Is that you, Dobson?" a voice asked. 

Now behold the occasional advantage of a nick-name. Dickson thought hewas being addressed as "Dogson" after the Poet's fashion. Had hedreamed it was Leon he would not have replied, but fluttered off intothe shadows, and so missed a piece of vital news. 

"Ay, it's me. " he whispered. 

His voice and accent were Scotch, like Dobson's, and Leon suspectednothing. 

"I do not like this wind, " he grumbled. "The Captain's letter said atdawn, but there is no chance of the Danish brig making your littleharbour in this weather. She must lie off and land the men by boats. That I do not like. It is too public. "

The news--tremendous news, for it told that the new-comers would comeby sea, which had never before entered Dickson's head--so interestedhim that he stood dumb and ruminating. The silence made the Belgiansuspect; he put out a hand and felt a waterproofed arm which might havebeen Dobson's. But the height of the shoulder proved that it was notthe burly innkeeper. There was an oath, a quick movement, and Dicksonwent down with a knee on his chest and two hands at his throat. 

"Heritage, " he gasped. "Help!"

There was a sound of furniture scraped violently on the floor. A gurglefrom Dickson served as a guide, and the Poet suddenly cascaded over thecombatants. He felt for a head, found Leon's and gripped the neck sosavagely that the owner loosened his hold on Dickson. The last-namedfound himself being buffeted violently by heavy-shod feet which seemedto be manoeuvring before an unseen enemy. He rolled out of the roadand encountered another pair of feet, this time unshod. Then came thesound of a concussion, as if metal or wood had struck some part of ahuman frame, and then a stumble and fall. 

After that a good many things all seemed to happen at once. There was asudden light, which showed Leon blinking with a short loadedlife-preserver in his hand, and Heritage prone in front of him on thefloor. It also showed Dickson the figure of Dougal, and more than oneDie-Hard in the background. The light went out as suddenly as it hadappeared. There was a whistle and a hoarse "Come on, men, " and thenfor two seconds there was a desperate silent combat. It ended withLeon's head meeting the floor so violently that its possessor becameoblivious of further proceedings. He was dragged into a cubby-hole, which had once been used for coats and rugs, and the door locked onhim. Then the light sprang forth again. It revealed Dougal and fiveDie-Hards, somewhat the worse for wear; it revealed also Dicksonsquatted with outspread waterproof very like a sitting hen. 

"Where's Dobson?" he asked. 

"In the boiler-house, " and for once Dougal's gravity had laughter init. "Govey Dick! but yon was a fecht! Me and Peter Paterson and WeeJaikie started it, but it was the whole company afore the end. Are yebetter, Jaikie?"

"Ay, I'm better, " said a pallid midget. 

"He kickit Jaikie in the stomach and Jaikie was seeck, " Dougalexplained. "That's the three accounted for. I think mysel' that Dobsonwill be the first to get out, but he'll have his work letting out theothers. Now, I'm for flittin' to the old Tower. They'll no ken wherewe are for a long time, and anyway yon place will be far easier todefend. Without they kindle a fire and smoke us out, I don't see howthey'll beat us. Our provisions are a' there, and there's a grand wello' water inside. Forbye there's the road down the rocks that'll keepour communications open.... But what's come to Mr. Heritage?"

Dickson to his shame had forgotten all about his friend. The Poet layvery quiet with his head on one side and his legs crooked limply. Bloodtrickled over his eyes from an ugly scar on his forehead. Dickson felthis heart and pulse and found them faint but regular. The man had got aswinging blow and might have a slight concussion; for the present hewas unconscious. 

"All the more reason why we should flit, " said Dougal. "What d'ye say, Mr. McCunn?"

"Flit, of course, but further than the old Tower. What's the time?" Helifted Heritage's wrist and saw from his watch that it was half-pastthree. "Mercy. It's nearly morning. Afore we put these blagyirdsaway, they were conversing, at least Leon and Dobson were. They saidthat they expected somebody every moment, but that the car would belate. We've still got that Somebody to tackle. Then Leon spoke to mein the dark, thinking I was Dobson, and cursed the wind, saying itwould keep the Danish brig from getting in at dawn as had beenintended. D'you see what that means? The worst of the lot, the onesthe ladies are in terror of, are coming by sea. Ay, and they canreturn by sea. We thought that the attack would be by land, and thateven if they succeeded we could hang on to their heels and follow them, till we got them stopped. But that's impossible! If they come in fromthe water, they can go out by the water, and there'll never be moreheard tell of the ladies or of you or me. "

Dougal's face was once again sunk in gloom. "What's your plan, then?"

"We must get the ladies away from here--away inland, far from the sea. The rest of us must stand a siege in the old Tower, so that the enemywill think we're all there. Please God we'll hold out long enough forhelp to arrive. But we mustn't hang about here. There's the manDobson mentioned--he may come any second, and we want to be away first. Get the ladder, Dougal.... Four of you take Mr. Heritage, and two comewith me and carry the ladies' things. It's no' raining, but the wind'senough to take the wings off a seagull. "

Dickson roused Saskia and her cousin, bidding them be ready in tenminutes. Then with the help of the Die-Hards he proceeded to transportthe necessary supplies--the stove, oil, dishes, clothes and wraps; morethan one journey was needed of small boys, hidden under clouds ofbaggage. When everything had gone he collected the keys, behind which, in various quarters of the house, three gaolers fumed impotently, andgave them to Wee Jaikie to dispose of in some secret nook. Then he ledthe two ladies to the verandah, the elder cross and sleepy, the youngeralert at the prospect of movement. 

"Tell me again, " she said. "You have locked all the three up, and theyare now the imprisoned?"

"Well, it was the boys that, properly speaking, did the locking up. "

"It is a great--how do you say?--a turning of the tables. Ah--what isthat?"

At the end of the verandah there was a clattering down of pots whichcould not be due to the wind, since the place was sheltered. There wasas yet only the faintest hint of light, and black night still lurked inthe crannies. Followed another fall of pots, as from a clumsyintruder, and then a man appeared, clear against the glass door bywhich the path descended to the rock garden. It was the fourth man, whom the three prisoners had awaited. Dickson had no doubt at all abouthis identity. He was that villain from whom all the others took theirorders, the man whom the Princess shuddered at. Before starting he hadloaded his pistol. Now he tugged it from his waterproof pocket, pointedit at the other and fired. 

The man seemed to be hit, for he spun round and clapped a hand to hisleft arm. Then he fled through the door, which he left open. 

Dickson was after him like a hound. At the door he saw him running andraised his pistol for another shot. Then he dropped it, for he sawsomething in the crouching, dodging figure which was familiar. 

"A mistake, " he explained to Jaikie when he returned. "But the shotwasn't wasted. I've just had a good try at killing the factor!"

CHAPTER X

DEALS WITH AN ESCAPE AND A JOURNEY

Five scouts' lanterns burned smokily in the ground room of the keepwhen Dickson ushered his charges through its cavernous door. The lightsflickered in the gusts that swept after them and whistled through theslits of the windows, so that the place was full of monstrous shadows, and its accustomed odour of mould and disuse was changed to a saltyfreshness. Upstairs on the first floor Thomas Yownie had deposited theladies' baggage, and was busy making beds out of derelict ironbedsteads and the wraps brought from their room. On the ground flooron a heap of litter covered by an old scout's blanket lay Heritage, with Dougal in attendance. 

The Chieftain had washed the blood from the Poet's brow, and the touchof cold water was bringing him back his senses. Saskia with a cry flewto him, and waved off Dickson who had fetched one of the bottles ofliqueur brandy. She slipped a hand inside his shirt and felt thebeating of his heart. Then her slim fingers ran over his forehead. 

"A bad blow, " she muttered, "but I do not think he is ill. There is nofracture. When I nursed in the Alexander Hospital I learnt much abouthead wounds. Do not give him cognac if you value his life. "

Heritage was talking now and with strange tongues. Phrases like "linedDigesters" and "free sulphurous acid" came from his lips. He imploredsome one to tell him if "the first cook" was finished, and he upbraidedsome one else for "cooling off" too fast. 

The girl raised her head. "But I fear he has become mad, " she said. 

"Wheesht, Mem, " said Dickson, who recognized the jargon. "He's apapermaker. "

Saskia sat down on the litter and lifted his head so that it rested onher breast. Dougal at her bidding brought a certain case from herbaggage, and with swift, capable hands she made a bandage and rubbedthe wound with ointment before tying it up. Then her fingers seemed toplay about his temples and along his cheeks and neck. She was theprofessional nurse now, absorbed, sexless. Heritage ceased to babble, his eyes shut and he was asleep. 

She remained where she was, so that the Poet, when a few minutes laterhe woke, found himself lying with his head in her lap. She spoke first, in an imperative tone: "You are well now. Your head does not ache. Youare strong again. "

"No. Yes, " he murmured. Then more clearly: "Where am I? Oh, Iremember, I caught a lick on the head. What's become of the brutes?"

Dickson, who had extracted food from the Mearns Street box and waspressing it on the others, replied through a mouthful of Biscuit:"We're in the old Tower. The three are lockit up in the House. Are youfeeling better, Mr. Heritage?"

The Poet suddenly realized Saskia's position and the blood came to hispale face. He got to his feet with an effort and held out a hand tothe girl. "I'm all right now, I think. Only a little dicky on mylegs. A thousand thanks, Princess. I've given you a lot of trouble. "

She smiled at him tenderly. "You say that when you have risked yourlife for me. "

"There's no time to waste, " the relentless Dougal broke in. "Comin'over here, I heard a shot. What was it?"

"It was me, " said Dickson. "I was shootin' at the factor. "

"Did ye hit him?"

"I think so, but I'm sorry to say not badly. When I last saw him hewas running too quick for a sore hurt man. When I fired I thought itwas the other man--the one they were expecting. "

Dickson marvelled at himself, yet his speech was not bravado, but thehonest expression of his mind. He was keyed up to a mood in which hefeared nothing very much, certainly not the laws of his country. If hefell in with the Unknown, he was entirely resolved, if his Makerpermitted him, to do murder as being the simplest and justest solution. And if in the pursuit of this laudable intention he happened to winglesser game it was no fault of his. 

"Well, it's a pity ye didn't get him, " said Dougal, "him being what weken him to be.... I'm for holding a council o' war, and considerin' thewhole position. So far we haven't done that badly. We've shifted ourbase without serious casualties. We've got a far better position tohold, for there's too many ways into yon Hoose, and here there's justone. Besides, we've fickled the enemy. They'll take some time to findout where we've gone. But, mind you, we can't count on their stayinglong shut up. Dobson's no safe in the boiler-house, for there's askylight far up and he'll see it when the light comes and maybe before. So we'd better get our plans ready. A word with ye, Mr. McCunn, " and heled Dickson aside. 

"D'ye ken what these blagyirds were up to?" he whispered fiercely inDickson's ear. "They were goin' to pushion the lassie. How do I ken, says you? Because Thomas Yownie heard Dobson say to Lean at thescullery door, 'Have ye got the dope?' he says, and Lean says, 'Aye. 'Thomas mindit the word for he had heard about it at the Picters. "

Dickson exclaimed in horror. 

"What d'ye make o' that? I'll tell ye. They wanted to make sure ofher, but they wouldn't have thought o' dope unless the men theyexpectit were due to arrive at any moment. As I see it, we've to facea siege not by the three but by a dozen or more, and it'll no' be longtill it starts. Now, isn't it a mercy we're safe in here?"

Dickson returned to the others with a grave face. 

"Where d'you think the new folk are coming from?" he asked. 

Heritage answered, "From Auchenlochan, I suppose? Or perhaps down fromthe hills?"

"You're wrong. " And he told of Leon's mistaken confidences to him inthe darkness. "They are coming from the sea, just like the oldpirates. "

"The sea, " Heritage repeated in a dazed voice. 

"Ay, the sea. Think what that means. If they had been coming by theroads, we could have kept track of them, even if they beat us, and someof these laddies could have stuck to them and followed them up tillhelp came. It can't be such an easy job to carry a young lady againsther will along Scotch roads. But the sea's a different matter. Ifthey've got a fast boat they could be out of the Firth and away beyondthe law before we could wake up a single policeman. Ay, and even ifthe Government took it up and warned all the ports and ships at sea, what's to hinder them to find a hidy-hole about Ireland--or Norway? Itell you, it's a far more desperate business than I thought, and it'llno' do to wait on and trust that the Chief Constable will turn up aforethe mischief's done. "

"The moral, " said Heritage, "is that there can be no surrender. We'vegot to stick it out in this old place at all costs. "

"No, " said Dickson emphatically. "The moral is that we must shift theladies. We've got the chance while Dobson and his friends are lockedup. Let's get them as far away as we can from the sea. They're farsafer tramping the moors, and it's no' likely the new folk will dare tofollow us. "

"But I cannot go. " Saskia, who had been listening intently, shook herhead. "I promised to wait here till my friend came. If I leave I shallnever find him. "

"If you stay you certainly never will, for you'll be away with theruffians. Take a sensible view, Mem. You'll be no good to your friendor your friend to you if before night you're rocking in a ship. "

The girl shook her head again, gently but decisively. "It was ourarrangement. I cannot break it. Besides, I am sure that he will comein time, for he has never failed---"

There was a desperate finality about the quiet tones and the weary facewith the shadow of a smile on it. 

Then Heritage spoke. "I don't think your plan will quite do, Dogson. Supposing we all break for the hinterland and the Danish brig finds thebirds flown, that won't end the trouble. They will get on thePrincess's trail, and the whole persecution will start again. I want tosee things brought to a head here and now. If we can stick it out herelong enough, we may trap the whole push and rid the world of a prettygang of miscreants. Let them show their hand, and then, if the policeare here by that time, we can jug the lot for piracy or somethingworse. "

"That's all right, " said Dougal, "but we'd put up a better fight if wehad the women off our mind. I've aye read that when a castle was goingto be besieged the first thing was to get rid of the civilians. "

"Sensible to the last, Dougal, " said Dickson approvingly. "That's justwhat I'm saying. I'm strong for a fight, but put the ladies in a safebit first, for they're our weak point. "

"Do you think that if you were fighting my enemies I would consent tobe absent?" came Saskia's reproachful question. 

"'Deed no, Mem, " said Dickson heartily. His martial spirit was withHeritage, but his prudence did not sleep, and he suddenly saw a way ofplacating both. "Just you listen to what I propose. What do we amountto? Mr. Heritage, six laddies, and myself--and I'm no more used tofighting than an old wife. We've seven desperate villains against us, and afore night they may be seventy. We've a fine old castle here, butfor defence we want more than stone walls--we want a garrison. I tellyou we must get help somewhere. Ay, but how, says you? Well, cominghere I noticed a gentleman's house away up ayont the railway and closeto the hills. The laird's maybe not at home, but there will be menthere of some kind--gamekeepers and woodmen and such like. My plan isto go there at once and ask for help. Now, it's useless me going alone, for nobody would listen to me. They'd tell me to go back to the shop orthey'd think me demented. But with you, Mem, it would be a differentmatter. They wouldn't disbelieve you. So I want you to come with me, and to come at once, for God knows how soon our need will be sore. We'll leave your cousin with Mrs. Morran in the village, for bed's theplace for her, and then you and me will be off on our business. "

The girl looked at Heritage, who nodded. "It's the only way, " he said. "Get every man jack you can raise, and if it's humanly possible get agun or two. I believe there's time enough, for I don't see the brigarriving in broad daylight. "

"D'you not?" Dickson asked rudely. "Have you considered what day thisis? It's the Sabbath, the best of days for an ill deed. There's nokirk hereaways, and everybody in the parish will be sitting indoors bythe fire. " He looked at his watch. "In half an hour it'll be light. Haste you, Mem, and get ready. Dougal, what's the weather?"

The Chieftain swung open the door, and sniffed the air. The wind hadfallen for the time being, and the surge of the tides below the rocksrose like the clamour of a mob. With the lull, mist and a thin drizzlehad cloaked the world again. 

To Dickson's surprise Dougal seemed to be in good spirits. He began tosing to a hymn tune a strange ditty. 

"Class-conscious we are, and class-conscious wull be Till our fit's onthe neck o' the Boorjoyzee. "

"What on earth are you singing?" Dickson inquired. 

Dougal grinned. "Wee Jaikie went to a Socialist Sunday School lastwinter because he heard they were for fechtin' battles. Ay, and theytelled him he was to join a thing called an International, and Jaikiethought it was a fitba' club. But when he fund out there was no magiclantern or swaree at Christmas he gie'd it the chuck. They learned hima heap o' queer songs. That's one. "

"What does the last word mean?"

"I don't ken. Jaikie thought it was some kind of a draigon. "

"It's a daft-like thing anyway.... When's high water?"

Dougal answered that to the best of his knowledge it fell between fourand five in the afternoon. 

"Then that's when we may expect the foreign gentry if they think tobring their boat in to the Garplefoot.... Dougal, lad, I trust you tokeep a most careful and prayerful watch. You had better get theDie-Hards out of the Tower and all round the place afore Dobson and Co. Get loose, or you'll no' get a chance later. Don't lose your mobility, as the sodgers say. Mr. Heritage can hold the fort, but you laddiesshould be spread out like a screen. "

"That was my notion, " said Dougal. "I'll detail two Die-Hards--ThomasYownie and Wee Jaikie--to keep in touch with ye and watch for youcomin' back. Thomas ye ken already; ye'll no fickle Thomas Yownie. But don't be mistook about Wee Jaikie. He's terrible fond of greetin', but it's no fright with him but excitement. It's just a habit he'sgotten. When ye see Jaikie begin to greet, you may be sure thatJaikie's gettin' dangerous. "

The door shut behind them and Dickson found himself with his twocharges in a world dim with fog and rain and the still lingeringdarkness. The air was raw, and had the sour smell which comes fromsoaked earth and wet boughs when the leaves are not yet fledged. Boththe women were miserably equipped for such an expedition. CousinEugenie trailed heavy furs, Saskia's only wrap was a bright-colouredshawl about her shoulders, and both wore thin foreign shoes. Dicksoninsisted on stripping off his trusty waterproof and forcing it on thePrincess, on whose slim body it hung very loose and very short. Theelder woman stumbled and whimpered and needed the constant support ofhis arm, walking like a townswoman from the knees. But Saskia swungfrom the hips like a free woman, and Dickson had much ado to keep upwith her. She seemed to delight in the bitter freshness of the dawn, inhaling deep breaths of it, and humming fragments of a tune. 

Guided by Thomas Yownie they took the road which Dickson and Heritagehad travelled the first evening, through the shrubberies on the northside of the House and the side avenue beyond which the ground fell tothe Laver glen. On their right the House rose like a dark cloud, butDickson had lost his terror of it. There were three angry men insideit, he remembered: long let them stay there. He marvelled at his mood, and also rejoiced, for his worst fear had always been that he mightprove a coward. Now he was puzzled to think how he could ever befrightened again, for his one object was to succeed, and in thatabsorption fear seemed to him merely a waste of time. "It all comes oftreating the thing as a business proposition, " he told himself. 

But there was far more in his heart than this sober resolution. He wasintoxicated with the resurgence of youth and felt a rapture of audacitywhich he never remembered in his decorous boyhood. "I haven't beendoing badly for an old man, " he reflected with glee. What, oh what hadbecome of the pillar of commerce, the man who might have been a bailiehad he sought municipal honours, the elder in the Guthrie MemorialKirk, the instructor of literary young men? In the past three days hehad levanted with jewels which had once been an Emperor's and certainlywere not his; he had burglariously entered and made free of a strangehouse; he had played hide-and-seek at the risk of his neck and hadwrestled in the dark with a foreign miscreant; he had shot at aneminent solicitor with intent to kill; and he was now engaged intramping the world with a fairytale Princess. I blush to confess thatof each of his doings he was unashamedly proud, and thirsted for manymore in the same line. "Gosh, but I'm seeing life, " was hisunregenerate conclusion. 

Without sight or sound of a human being, they descended to the Laver, climbed again by the cart track, and passed the deserted West Lodge andinn to the village. It was almost full dawn when the three stood inMrs. Morran's kitchen. 

"I've brought you two ladies, Auntie Phemie, " said Dickson. 

They made an odd group in that cheerful place, where the new-lit firewas crackling in the big grate--the wet undignified form of Dickson, unshaven of cheek and chin and disreputable in garb; the shroudedfigure of Cousin Eugenie, who had sunk into the arm-chair and closedher eyes; the slim girl, into whose face the weather had whipped a glowlike blossom; and the hostess, with her petticoats kilted and anancient mutch on her head. 

Mrs. Morran looked once at Saskia, and then did a thing which she hadnot done since her girlhood. She curtseyed. 

"I'm proud to see ye here, Mem. Off wi' your things, and I'll get yedry claes, Losh, ye're fair soppin' And your shoon! Ye maun changeyour feet.... Dickson! Awa' up to the loft, and dinna you stir till Igive ye a cry. The leddies will change by the fire. And You, Mem"--this to Cousin Eugenie--"the place for you's your bed. I'llkinnle a fire ben the hoose in a jiffey. And syne ye'll havebreakfast--ye'll hae a cup o' tea wi' me now, for the kettle's just onthe boil. Awa' wi' ye. Dickson, " and she stamped her foot. 

Dickson departed, and in the loft washed his face, and smoked a pipe onthe edge of the bed, watching the mist eddying up the village street. From below rose the sounds of hospitable bustle, and when after sometwenty minutes' vigil he descended, he found Saskia toasting stockingedtoes by the fire in the great arm-chair, and Mrs. Morran setting thetable. 

"Auntie Phemie, hearken to me. We've taken on too big a job for twomen and six laddies, and help we've got to get, and that this verymorning. D'you mind the big white house away up near the hills ayontthe station and east of the Ayr road? It looked like a gentleman'sshooting lodge. I was thinking of trying there. Mercy!"

The exclamation was wrung from him by his eyes settling on Saskia andnoting her apparel. Gone were her thin foreign clothes, and in theirplace she wore a heavy tweed skirt cut very short, and thick homespunstockings, which had been made for some one with larger feet than hers. A pair of the coarse low-heeled shoes which country folk wear in thefarmyard stood warming by the hearth. She still had her russet jumper, but round her neck hung a grey wool scarf, of the kind known as a"Comforter. " Amazingly pretty she looked in Dickson's eyes, but with adifferent kind of prettiness. The sense of fragility had fled, and hesaw how nobly built she was for all her exquisiteness. She looked likea queen, he thought, but a queen to go gipsying through the world with. 

"Ay, they're some o' Elspeth's things, rale guid furthy claes, " saidMrs. Morran complacently. "And the shoon are what she used to gangabout the byres wi' when she was in the Castlewham dairy. The leddy wastellin' me she was for trampin' the hills, and thae things will keepher dry and warm.... I ken the hoose ye mean. They ca' it the Mains ofGarple. And I ken the man that bides in it. He's yin Sir ErchibaldRoylance. English, but his mither was a Dalziel. I'm no weel acquaintwi' his forbears, but I'm weel eneuch acquaint wi' Sir Erchie, and'better a guid coo than a coo o' a guid kind, ' as my mither used tosay. He used to be an awfu' wild callont, a freend o' puir MaisterQuentin, and up to ony deevilry. But they tell me he's a quieter ladsince the war, as sair lamed by fa'in oot o' an airyplane. "

"Will he be at the Mains just now?" Dickson asked. 

"I wadna wonder. He has a muckle place in England, but he aye used tocome here in the back-end for the shootin' and in April for birds. He'sclean daft about birds. He'll be out a' day at the craig watchin'solans, or lyin' a' mornin' i' the moss lookin' at bog-blitters. "

"Will he help, think you?"

"I'll wager he'll help. Onyway it's your best chance, and better a weebush than nae beild. Now, sit in to your breakfast. "

It was a merry meal. Mrs. Morran dispensed tea and gnomic wisdom. Saskia ate heartily, speaking little, but once or twice laying her handsoftly on her hostess's gnarled fingers. Dickson was in such spiritsthat he gobbled shamelessly, being both hungry and hurried, and hespoke of the still unconquered enemy with ease and disrespect, so thatMrs. Morran was moved to observe that there was "naething sae bauld asa blind mear. " But when in a sudden return of modesty he belittled hisusefulness and talked sombrely of his mature years he was told that he"wad never be auld wi' sae muckle honesty. " Indeed it was very clearthat Mrs. Morran approved of her nephew. They did not linger overbreakfast, for both were impatient to be on the road. Mrs. Morranassisted Saskia to put on Elspeth's shoes. "'Even a young fit findscomfort in an auld bauchle, ' as my mother, honest woman, used to say. "Dickson's waterproof was restored to him, and for Saskia an oldraincoat belonging to the son in South Africa was discovered, whichfitted her better. "Siccan weather, " said the hostess, as she openedthe door to let in a swirl of wind. "The deil's aye kind to his ain. Haste ye back, Mem, and be sure I'll tak' guid care o' your leddycousin. "

The proper way to the Mains of Garple was either by the station and theAyr road, or by the Auchenlochan highway, branching off half a milebeyond the Garple bridge. But Dickson, who had been studying the mapand fancied himself as a pathfinder, chose the direct route across theLong Muir as being at once shorter and more sequestered. With the dawnthe wind had risen again, but it had shifted towards the north-west andwas many degrees colder. The mist was furling on the hills like sails, the rain had ceased, and out at sea the eye covered a mile or two ofwild water. The moor was drenching wet, and the peat bogs werebrimming with inky pools, so that soon the travellers were soaked tothe knees. Dickson had no fear of pursuit, for he calculated thatDobson and his friends, even if they had got out, would be busy lookingfor the truants in the vicinity of the House and would presently beengaged with the old Tower. But he realized, too, that speed on hiserrand was vital, for at any moment the Unknown might arrive from thesea. 

So he kept up a good pace, half-running, half-striding, till they hadpassed the railway, and he found himself gasping with a stitch in hisside, and compelled to rest in the lee of what had once been asheepfold. Saskia amazed him. She moved over the rough heather like adeer, and it was her hand that helped him across the deeper hags. Before such youth and vigour he felt clumsy and old. She stood lookingdown at him as he recovered his breath, cool, unruffled, alert asDiana. His mind fled to Heritage, and it occurred to him suddenly thatthe Poet had set his affections very high. Loyalty drove him to speakfor his friend. 

"I've got the easy job, " he said. "Mr. Heritage will have the wholepack on him in that old Tower, and him with such a sore clout on hishead. I've left him my pistol. He's a terrible brave man!"

She smiled. 

"Ay, and he's a poet too. "

"So?" she said. "I did not know. He is very young. "

"He's a man of very high ideels. "

She puzzled at the word, and then smiled. "He is like many of ouryoung men in Russia, the students--his mind is in a ferment and he doesnot know what he wants. But he is brave. "

This seemed to Dickson's loyal soul but a chilly tribute. 

"I think he is in love with me, " she continued. 

He looked up startled, and saw in her face that which gave him a viewinto a strange new world. He had thought that women blushed when theytalked of love, but he eyes were as grave and candid as a boy's. Herewas one who had gone through waters so deep that she had lost thefoibles of sex. Love to her was only a word of ill omen, a threat onthe lips of brutes, an extra battalion of peril in an army ofperplexities. He felt like some homely rustic who finds himself sweptunwittingly into the moonlight hunt of Artemis and her maidens. 

"He is a romantic, " she said. "I have known so many like him. "

"He's no that, " said Dickson shortly. "Why he used to be aye laughingat me for being romantic. He's one that's looking for truth andreality, he says, and he's terrible down on the kind of poetry I likemyself. "

She smiled. "They all talk so. But you, my friend Dickson" (shepronounced the name in two staccato syllables ever so prettily), "youare different. Tell me about yourself. "

"I'm just what you see--a middle-aged retired grocer. "

"Grocer?" she queried. "Ah, yes, epicier. But you are a veryremarkable epicier. Mr. Heritage I understand, but you and thoselittle boys--no. I am sure of one thing--you are not a romantic. Youare too humorous and--and--I think you are like Ulysses, for it wouldnot be easy to defeat you. "

Her eyes were kind, nay affectionate, and Dickson experienced apreposterous rapture in his soul, followed by a sinking, as he realizedhow far the job was still from being completed. 

"We must be getting on, Mem, " he said hastily, and the two plungedagain into the heather. 

The Ayr road was crossed, and the fir wood around the Mains becamevisible, and presently the white gates of the entrance. A wind-blownspire of smoke beyond the trees proclaimed that the house was notuntenanted. As they entered the drive the Scots firs were tossing inthe gale, which blew fiercely at this altitude, but, the dwellingitself being more in the hollow, the daffodil clumps on the lawn werebut mildly fluttered. 

The door was opened by a one-armed butler who bore all the marks of theold regular soldier. Dickson produced a card and asked to see hismaster on urgent business. Sir Archibald was at home, he was told, andhad just finished breakfast. The two were led into a large barechamber which had all the chill and mustiness of a bachelor'sdrawing-room. The butler returned, and said Sir Archibald would seehim. "I'd better go myself first and prepare the way, Mem, " Dicksonwhispered, and followed the man across the hall. 

He found himself ushered into a fair-sized room where a bright fire wasburning. On a table lay the remains of breakfast, and the odour offood mingled pleasantly with the scent of peat. The horns and heads ofbig game, foxes' masks, the model of a gigantic salmon, and severalbookcases adorned the walls, and books and maps were mixed withdecanters and cigar-boxes on the long sideboard. After the wild out ofdoors the place seemed the very shrine of comfort. A young man sat inan arm-chair by the fire with a leg on a stool; he was smoking a pipe, and reading the Field, and on another stool at his elbow was a pile ofnew novels. He was a pleasant brown-faced young man, with remarkablysmooth hair and a roving humorous eye. 

"Come in, Mr. McCunn. Very glad to see you. If, as I take it, you'rethe grocer, you're a household name in these parts. I get all mysupplies from you, and I've just been makin' inroads on one of yourdivine hams. Now, what can I do for you?"

"I'm very proud to hear what you say, Sir Archibald. But I've not comeon business. I've come with the queerest story you ever heard in yourlife and I've come to ask your help. "

"Go ahead. A good story is just what I want this vile mornin'. "

"I'm not here alone. I've a lady with me. "

"God bless my soul! A lady!"

"Ay, a princess. She's in the next room. "

The young man looked wildly at him and waved the book he had beenreading. 

"Excuse me, Mr. McCunn, but are you quite sober? I beg your pardon. Isee you are. But you know, it isn't done. Princesses don't as a rulecome here after breakfast to pass the time of day. It's more absurdthan this shocker I've been readin'. "

"All the same it's a fact. She'll tell you the story herself, andyou'll believe her quick enough. But to prepare your mind I'll justgive you a sketch of the events of the last few days. "

Before the sketch was concluded the young man had violently rung thebell. "Sime, " he shouted to the servant, "clear away this mess and laythe table again. Order more breakfast, all the breakfast you can get. Open the windows and get the tobacco smoke out of the air. Tidy up theplace for there's a lady comin'. Quick, you juggins!"

He was on his feet now, and, with his arm in Dickson's, was heading forthe door. 

"My sainted aunt! And you topped off with pottin' at the factor. I'veseen a few things in my day, but I'm blessed if I ever met a bird likeyou!"

CHAPTER XI

GRAVITY OUT OF BED

It is probable that Sir Archibald Roylance did not altogether believeDickson's tale; it may be that he considered him an agreeable romancer, or a little mad, or no more than a relief to the tedium of a wet Sundaymorning. But his incredulity did not survive one glance at Saskia asshe stood in that bleak drawing-room among Victorian water-colours andfaded chintzes. The young man's boyishness deserted him. He stoppedshort in his tracks, and made a profound and awkward bow. "I am atyour service, Mademoiselle, " he said, amazed at himself. The wordsseemed to have come out of a confused memory of plays and novels. 

She inclined her head--a little on one side, and looked towards Dickson. 

"Sir Archibald's going to do his best for us, " said that squire ofdames. "I was telling him that we had had our breakfast. "

"Let's get out of this sepulchre, " said their host, who was recoveringhimself. "There's a roasting fire in my den. Of course you'll havesomething to eat--hot coffee, anyhow--I've trained my cook to makecoffee like a Frenchwoman. The housekeeper will take charge of you, ifyou want to tidy up, and you must excuse our ramshackle ways, please. Idon't believe there's ever been a lady in this house before, you know. "

He led her to the smoking-room and ensconced her in the great chair bythe fire. Smilingly she refused a series of offers which ranged from asheepskin mantle which he had got in the Pamirs and which he thoughtmight fit her, to hot whisky and water as a specific against a chill. But she accepted a pair of slippers and deftly kicked off the broguesprovided by Mrs. Morran. Also, while Dickson started rapaciously on asecond breakfast, she allowed him to pour her out a cup of coffee. 

"You are a soldier?" she asked. 

"Two years infantry--5th Battalion Lennox Highlanders, and then FlyingCorps. Top-hole time I had too till the day before the Armistice, whenmy luck gave out and I took a nasty toss. Consequently I'm not as faston my legs now as I'd like to be. "

"You were a friend of Captain Kennedy?"

"His oldest. We were at the same private school, and he was atm'tutors, and we were never much separated till he went abroad to cramfor the Diplomatic and I started east to shoot things. "

"Then I will tell you what I told Captain Kennedy. " Saskia, lookinginto the heart of the peats, began the story of which we have alreadyheard a version, but she told it differently, for she was telling it toone who more or less belonged to her own world. She mentioned names atwhich the other nodded. She spoke of a certain Paul Abreskov. "I heardof him at Bokhara in 1912, " said Sir Archie, and his face grew solemn. Sometimes she lapsed into French, and her hearer's brow wrinkled, buthe appeared to follow. When she had finished he drew a long breath. 

"My aunt! What a time you've been through! I've seen pluck in my day, but yours! It's not thinkable. D'you mind if I ask a question, Princess? Bolshevism we know all about, and I admit Trotsky and hisfriends are a pretty effective push; but how on earth have they got aworld-wide graft going in the time so that they can stretch their netto an out-of-the-way spot like this? It looks as if they had struck aNapoleon somewhere. "

"You do not understand, " she said. "I cannot make any oneunderstand--except a Russian. My country has been broken to pieces, and there is no law in it; therefore it is a nursery of crime. Sowould England be, or France, if you had suffered the same misfortunes. My people are not wickeder than others, but for the moment they aresick and have no strength. As for the government of the Bolsheviki itmatters little, for it will pass. Some parts of it may remain, but itis a government of the sick and fevered, and cannot endure in health. Lenin may be a good man--I do not think so, but I do not know--but ifhe were an archangel he could not alter things. Russia is mortallysick and therefore all evil is unchained, and the criminals have no oneto check them. There is crime everywhere in the world, and theunfettered crime in Russia is so powerful that it stretches its hand tocrime throughout the globe and there is a great mobilizing everywhereof wicked men. Once you boasted that law was international and thatthe police in one land worked with the police of all others. To-daythat is true about criminals. After a war evil passions are loosed, and, since Russia is broken, in her they can make theirheadquarters.... It is not Bolshevism, the theory, you need fear, forthat is a weak and dying thing. It is crime, which to-day finds itsseat in my country, but is not only Russian. It has no fatherland. Itis as old as human nature and as wide as the earth. "

"I see, " said Sir Archie. "Gad, here have I been vegetatin' andthinkin' that all excitement had gone out of life with the war, andsometimes even regrettin' that the beastly old thing was over, and allthe while the world fairly hummin' with interest. And Loudon too!"

"I would like your candid opinion on yon factor, Sir Archibald, " saidDickson. 

"I can't say I ever liked him, and I've once or twice had a row withhim, for used to bring his pals to shoot over Dalquharter and he didn'tquite play the game by me. But I know dashed little about him, forI've been a lot away. Bit hairy about the heels, of course. A greatfigure at local race-meetin's, and used to toady old Carforth and thehuntin' crowd. He has a pretty big reputation as a sharp lawyer andsome of the thick-headed lairds swear by him, but Quentin never couldstick him. It's quite likely he's been gettin' into Queer Street, forhe was always speculatin' in horseflesh, and I fancy he plunged a biton the Turf. But I can't think how he got mixed up in this show. "

"I'm positive Dobson's his brother. "

"And put this business in his way. That would explain it all right.... He must be runnin' for pretty big stakes, for that kind of lad don'tdabble in crime for six-and-eightpence.... Now for the layout. You'vegot three men shut up in Dalquharter House, who by this time haveprobably escaped. One of you--what's his name?--Heritage?--is in theold Tower, and you think that they think the Princess is still thereand will sit round the place like terriers. Sometime to-day the Danishbrig wall arrive with reinforcements, and then there will be a heftyfight. Well, the first thing to be done it to get rid of Loudon'sstymie with the authorities. Princess, I'm going to carry you off inmy car to the Chief Constable. The second thing is for you after thatto stay on here. It's a deadly place on a wet day, but it's safeenough. "

Saskia shook her head and Dickson spoke for her. 

"You'll no' get her to stop here. I've done my best, but she'sdetermined to be back at Dalquharter. You see she's expecting afriend, and besides, if here's going to be a battle she'd like to be init. Is that so, Mem?"

Sir Archie looked helplessly around him, and the sight of the girl'sface convinced him that argument would be fruitless. "Anyhow she mustcome with me to the Chief Constable. Lethington's a slow bird on thewing, and I don't see myself convincin' him that he must get busyunless I can produce the Princess. Even then it may be a tough job, for it's Sunday, and in these parts people go to sleep till Mondaymornin'. "

"That's just what I'm trying to get at, " said Dickson. "By all meansgo to the Chief Constable, and tell him it's life or death. My lawyerin Glasgow, Mr. Caw, will have been stirring him up yesterday, and youtwo should complete the job... But what I'm feared is that he'll not bein time. As you say, it's the Sabbath day, and the police are terribleslow. Now any moment that brig may be here, and the trouble willstart. I'm wanting to save the Princess, but I'm wanting too to givethese blagyirds the roughest handling they ever got in their lives. Therefore I say there's no time to lose. We're far ower few to put up afight, and we want every man you've got about this place to hold thefort till the police come. "

Sir Archibald looked upon the earnest flushed face of Dickson withadmiration. "I'm blessed if you're not the most whole-hearted brigandI've ever struck. "

"I'm not. I'm just a business man. "

"Do you realize that you're levying a private war and breaking everylaw of the land?"

"Hoots!" said Dickson. "I don't care a docken about the law. I'm forseeing this job through. What force can you produce?"

"Only cripples, I'm afraid. There's Sime, my butler. He was aFusilier Jock and, as you saw, has lost an arm. Then McGuffog thekeeper is a good man, but he's still got a Turkish bullet in his thigh. The chauffeur, Carfrae, was in the Yeomanry, and lost half a foot; andthere's myself, as lame as a duck. The herds on the home farm are nogood, for one's seventy and the other is in bed with jaundice. TheMains can produce four men, but they're rather a job lot. "

"They'll do fine, " said Dickson heartily. "All sodgers, and no doubtall good shots. Have you plenty guns?"

Sir Archie burst into uproarious laughter. "Mr. McCunn, you're a manafter my own heart. I'm under your orders. If I had a boy I'd put himinto the provision trade, for it's the place to see fightin'. Yes, we've no end of guns. I advise shot-guns, for they've more stoppin'power in a rush than a rifle, and I take it it's a rough-and-tumblewe're lookin' for. "

"Right, " said Dickson. "I saw a bicycle in the hall. I want you tolend it me, for I must be getting back. You'll take the Princess anddo the best you can with the Chief Constable. "

"And then?"

"Then you'll load up your car with your folk, and come down the hill toDalquharter. There'll be a laddie, or maybe more than one, waiting foryou on this side the village to give you instructions. Take your ordersfrom them. If it's a red-haired ruffian called Dougal you'll be wiseto heed what he says, for he has a grand head for battles. "

Five minutes later Dickson was pursuing a quavering course like a snipedown the avenue. He was a miserable performer on a bicycle. Not fortwenty years had he bestridden one, and he did not understand such newdevices as free-wheels and change of gears. The mounting had been theworst part, and it had only been achieved by the help of a rockery. Hehad begun by cutting into two flower-beds, and missing a birch tree byinches. But he clung on desperately, well knowing that if he fell offit would be hard to remount, and at length he gained the avenue. Whenhe passed the lodge gates he was riding fairly straight, and when heturned off the Ayr highway to the side road that led to Dalquharter hewas more or less master of his machine. 

He crossed the Garple by an ancient hunch-backed bridge, observing evenin his absorption with the handle-bars that the stream was in roaringspate. He wrestled up the further hill with aching calf-muscles, andgot to the top just before his strength gave out. Then as the roadturned seaward he had the slope with him, and enjoyed some respite. Itwas no case for putting up his feet, for the gale was blowing hard onhis right cheek, but the downward grade enabled him to keep his coursewith little exertion. His anxiety to get back to the scene of actionwas for the moment appeased, since he knew he was making as good speedas the weather allowed, so he had leisure for thought. 

But the mind of this preposterous being was not on the business beforehim. He dallied with irrelevant things--with the problems of youth andlove. He was beginning to be very nervous about Heritage, not as thesolitary garrison of the old Tower, but as the lover of Saskia. Thateverybody should be in love with her appeared to him only proper, forhe had never met her like, and assumed that it did not exist. Thedesire of the moth for the star seemed to him a reasonable thing, sincehopeless loyalty and unrequited passion were the eternal stock-in-tradeof romance. He wished he were twenty-five himself to have the chanceof indulging in such sentimentality for such a lady. But Heritage wasnot like him and would never be content with a romantic folly.... Hehad been in love with her for two years--a long time. He spoke aboutwanting to die for her, which was a flight beyond Dickson himself. "Idoubt it will be what they call a 'grand passion, '" he reflected withreverence. But it was hopeless; he saw quite clearly that it washopeless. 

Why, he could not have explained, for Dickson's instincts were subtlerthan his intelligence. He recognized that the two belonged todifferent circles of being, which nowhere intersected. That mysteriouslady, whose eyes had looked through life to the other side, was no matefor the Poet. His faithful soul was agitated, for he had developed forHeritage a sincere affection. It would break his heart, poor man. There was he holding the fort alone and cheering himself withdelightful fancies about one remoter than the moon. Dickson wantedhappy endings, and here there was no hope of such. He hated to admitthat life could be crooked, but the optimist in him was now fairlydashed. 

Sir Archie might be the fortunate man, for of course he would soon bein love with her, if he were not so already. Dickson like all hisclass had a profound regard for the country gentry. The business Scotdoes not usually revere wealth, though he may pursue it earnestly, nordoes he specially admire rank in the common sense. But for ancientrace he has respect in his bones, though it may happen that in publiche denies it, and the laird has for him a secular association with goodfamily.... Sir Archie might do. He was young, good-looking, obviouslygallant... But no! He was not quite right either. Just a trifle toolight in weight, too boyish and callow. The Princess must have youth, but it should be mighty youth, the youth of a Napoleon or a Caesar. Hereflected that the Great Montrose, for whom he had a specialveneration, might have filled the bill. Or young Harry with his beaverup? Or Claverhouse in the picture with the flush of temper on hischeek?

The meditations of the match-making Dickson came to an abrupt end. Hehad been riding negligently, his head bent against the wind, and hiseyes vaguely fixed on the wet hill-gravel of the road. Of hisimmediate environs he was pretty well unconscious. Suddenly he wasaware of figures on each side of him who advanced menacingly. Stung toactivity he attempted to increase his pace, which was already good, forthe road at this point descended steeply. Then, before he couldprevent it, a stick was thrust into his front wheel, and the nextsecond he was describing a curve through the air. His head took theground, he felt a spasm of blinding pain, and then a sense of horriblesuffocation before his wits left him. 

"Are ye sure it's the richt man, Ecky?" said a voice which he did nothear. 

"Sure. It's the Glesca body Dobson telled us to look for yesterday. It's a pund note atween us for this job. We'll tie him up in the wudtill we've time to attend to him. "

"Is he bad?"

"It doesna maitter, " said the one called Ecky. "He'll be deid onywaylong afore the morn. "

Mrs. Morran all forenoon was in a state of un-Sabbatical disquiet. After she had seen Saskia and Dickson start she finished herhousewifely duties, took Cousin Eugenie her breakfast, and madepreparation for the midday dinner. The invalid in the bed in theparlour was not a repaying subject. Cousin Eugenie belonged to thattype of elderly women who, having been spoiled in youth, find the restof life fall far short of their expectations. Her voice had acquired aperpetual wail, and the corners of what had once been a pretty mouthdrooped in an eternal peevishness. She found herself in a morass ofmisery and shabby discomfort, but had her days continued in an eventenor she would still have lamented. "A dingy body, " was Mrs. Morran'scomment, but she laboured in kindness. Unhappily they had no commonlanguage, and it was only by signs that the hostess could discover herwants and show her goodwill. She fed her and bathed her face, saw tothe fire and left her to sleep. "I'm boilin' a hen to mak' broth foryour denner, Mem. Try and get a bit sleep now. " The purport of theadvice was clear, and Cousin Eugenie turned obediently on her pillow. 

It was Mrs. Morran's custom of a Sunday to spend the morning in devoutmeditation. Some years before she had given up tramping the five milesto kirk, on the ground that having been a regular attendant for fiftyyears she had got all the good out of it that was probable. Instead sheread slowly aloud to herself the sermon printed in a certain religiousweekly which reached her every Saturday, and concluded with a chapteror two of the Bible. But to-day something had gone wrong with hermind. She could not follow the thread of the Reverend DoctorMacMichael's discourse. She could not fix her attention on thewanderings and misdeeds of Israel as recorded in the Book of Exodus. She must always be getting up to look at the pot on the fire, or toopen the back door and study the weather. For a little she foughtagainst her unrest, and then she gave up the attempt at concentration. She took the big pot off the fire and allowed it to simmer, andpresently she fetched her boots and umbrella, and kilted herpetticoats. "I'll be none the waur o' a breath o' caller air, " shedecided. 

The wind was blowing great guns but there was only the thinnestsprinkle of rain. Sitting on the hen-house roof and munching a rawturnip was a figure which she recognized as the smallest of theDie-Hards. Between bites he was singing dolefully to the tune of"Annie Laurie" one of the ditties of his quondam Sunday School:

 "The Boorjoys' brays are bonnie, Too-roo-ra-roo-raloo, But the Workers of the World Wull gar them a' look blue, And droon them in the sea, And--for bonnie Annie Laurie I'll lay me down and dee. "

"Losh, laddie, " she cried, "that's cauld food for the stomach. Comeindoors about midday and I'll gie ye a plate o' broth!" The Die-Hardsaluted and continued on the turnip. 

She took the Auchenlochan road across the Garple bridge, for that wasthe best road to the Mains, and by it Dickson and the others might bereturning. Her equanimity at all seasons was like a Turk's, and shewould not have admitted that anything mortal had power to upset orexcite her: nevertheless it was a fast-beating heart that she now borebeneath her Sunday jacket. Great events, she felt, were on the eve ofhappening, and of them she was a part. Dickson's anxiety was hers, tobring things to a business-like conclusion. The honour of Huntingtowerwas at stake and of the old Kennedys. She was carrying out Mr. Quentin's commands, the dead boy who used to clamour for her treaclescones. And there was more than duty in it, for youth was not dead inher old heart, and adventure had still power to quicken it. 

Mrs. Morran walked well, with the steady long paces of the Scotscountrywoman. She left the Auchenlochan road and took the side pathalong the tableland to the Mains. But for the surge of the gale andthe far-borne boom of the furious sea there was little noise; not abird cried in the uneasy air. With the wind behind her Mrs. Morranbreasted the ascent till she had on her right the moorland runningsouth to the Lochan valley and on her left Garple chafing in its deepforested gorges. Her eyes were quick and she noted with interest aweasel creeping from a fern-clad cairn. A little way on she passed anold ewe in difficulties and assisted it to rise. "But for me, mywumman, ye'd hae been braxy ere nicht, " she told it as it departedbleating. Then she realized that she had come a certain distance. "Losh, I maun be gettin' back or the hen will be spiled, " she cried, and was on the verge of turning. 

But something caught her eye a hundred yards farther on the road. Itwas something which moved with the wind like a wounded bird, flutteringfrom the roadside to a puddle and then back to the rushes. She advancedto it, missed it, and caught it. 

It was an old dingy green felt hat, and she recognized it as Dickson's. 

Mrs. Morran's brain, after a second of confusion, worked fast andclearly. She examined the road and saw that a little way on the gravelhad been violently agitated. She detected several prints of hobnailedboots. There were prints, too, on a patch of peat on the south sidebehind a tall bank of sods. "That's where they were hidin', " sheconcluded. Then she explored on the other side in a thicket of hazelsand wild raspberries, and presently her perseverance was rewarded. Thescrub was all crushed and pressed as if several persons had beenforcing a passage. In a hollow was a gleam of something white. Shemoved towards it with a quaking heart, and was relieved to find that itwas only a new and expensive bicycle with the front wheel badly buckled. 

Mrs. Morran delayed no longer. If she had walked well on her outjourney, she beat all records on the return. Sometimes she would runtill her breath failed; then she would slow down till anxiety once morequickened her pace. To her joy, on the Dalquharter side of the Garplebridge she observed the figure of a Die-Hard. Breathless, flushed, with her bonnet awry and her umbrella held like a scimitar, she seizedon the boy. 

"Awfu' doin's! They've grippit Maister McCunn up the Mains road justafore the second milestone and forenent the auld bucht. I fund hishat, and a bicycle's lyin' broken in the wud. Haste ye, man, and getthe rest and awa' and seek him. It'll be the tinklers frae the Dean. I'd gang misel' but my legs are ower auld. Ah, laddie, dinna stop tospeir questions. They'll hae him murdered or awa' to sea. And maybethe leddy was wi' him and they've got them baith. Wae's me! Wae's me!"

The Die-Hard, who was Wee Jaikie, did not delay. His eyes had filledwith tears at her news, which we know to have been his habit. When Mrs. Morran, after indulging in a moment of barbaric keening, looked backthe road she had come, she saw a small figure trotting up the hill likea terrier who has been left behind. As he trotted he wept bitterly. Jaikie was getting dangerous. 

CHAPTER XII

HOW MR. McCUNN COMMITTED AN ASSAULT UPON AN ALLY

Dickson always maintained that his senses did not leave him for morethan a second or two, but he admitted that he did not remember veryclearly the events of the next few hours. He was conscious of a badpain above his eyes, and something wet trickling down his cheek. Therewas a perpetual sound of water in his ears and of men's voices. Hefound himself dropped roughly on the ground and forced to walk, and wasaware that his legs were inclined to wobble. Somebody had a grip oneach arm, so that he could not defend his face from the brambles, andthat worried him, for his whole head seemed one aching bruise and hedreaded anything touching it. But all the time he did not open hismouth, for silence was the one duty that his muddled wits enforced. Hefelt that he was not the master of his mind, and he dreaded what hemight disclose if he began to babble. 

Presently there came a blank space of which he had no recollection atall. The movement had stopped, and he was allowed to sprawl on theground. He thought that his head had got another whack from a bough, and that the pain put him into a stupor. When he awoke he was alone. 

He discovered that he was strapped very tightly to a young Scotch fir. His arms were bent behind him and his wrists tied together with cordsknotted at the back of the tree; his legs were shackled, and furthercords fastened them to the bole. Also there was a halter round thetrunk and just under his chin, so that while he breathed freely enough, he could not move his head. Before him was a tangle of bracken andscrub, and beyond that the gloom of dense pines; but as he could seeonly directly in front his prospect was strictly circumscribed. 

Very slowly he began to take his bearings. The pain in his head wasnow dulled and quite bearable, and the flow of blood had stopped, forhe felt the encrustation of it beginning on his cheeks. There was atremendous noise all around him, and he traced this to the swaying oftree-tops in the gale. But there was an undercurrent of deepersound--water surely, water churning among rocks. It was a stream--theGarple of course--and then he remembered where he was and what hadhappened. 

I do not wish to portray Dickson as a hero, for nothing would annoy himmore; but I am bound to say that his first clear thought was not of hisown danger. It was intense exasperation at the miscarriage of hisplans. Long ago he should have been with Dougal arranging operations, giving him news of Sir Archie, finding out how Heritage was faring, deciding how to use the coming reinforcements. Instead he was trussedup in a wood, a prisoner of the enemy, and utterly useless to his side. He tugged at his bonds, and nearly throttled himself. But they were ofgood tarry cord and did not give a fraction of an inch. Tears ofbitter rage filled his eyes and made furrows on his encrusted cheek. Idiot that he had been, he had wrecked everything! What would Saskiaand Dougal and Sir Archie do without a business man by their side?There would be a muddle, and the little party would walk into a trap. He saw it all very clearly. The men from the sea would overpower them, there would be murder done, and an easy capture of the Princess; andthe police would turn up at long last to find an empty headland. 

He had also most comprehensively wrecked himself, and at the thoughtgenuine panic seized him. There was no earthly chance of escape, forhe was tucked away in this infernal jungle till such time as hisenemies had time to deal with him. As to what that dealing would belike he had no doubts, for they knew that he had been their chiefopponent. Those desperate ruffians would not scruple to put an end tohim. His mind dwelt with horrible fascination upon throat-cutting, nodoubt because of the presence of the cord below his chin. He had heardit was not a painful death; at any rate he remembered a clerk he hadonce had, a feeble, timid creature, who had twice attempted suicidethat way. Surely it could not be very bad, and it would soon be over. 

But another thought came to him. They would carry him off in the shipand settle with him at their leisure. No swift merciful death for him. He had read dreadful tales of the Bolsheviks' skill in torture, and nowthey all came back to him--stories of Chinese mercenaries, and menburied alive, and death by agonizing inches. He felt suddenly verycold and sick, and hung in his bonds, for he had no strength in hislimbs. Then the pressure on this throat braced him, and also quickenedhis numb mind. The liveliest terror ran like quicksilver through hisveins. 

He endured some moments of this anguish, till after many despairingclutches at his wits he managed to attain a measure of self-control. Hecertainly wasn't going to allow himself to become mad. Death was deathwhatever form it took, and he had to face death as many better men haddone before him. He had often thought about it and wondered how heshould behave if the thing came to him. Respectably, he had hoped;heroically, he had sworn in his moments of confidence. But he hadnever for an instant dreamed of this cold, lonely, dreadful business. Last Sunday, he remembered, he had basking in the afternoon sun in hislittle garden and reading about the end of Fergus MacIvor in WAVERLEYand thrilling to the romance of it; and Tibby had come out and summonedhim in to tea. Then he had rather wanted to be a Jacobite in the '45and in peril of his neck, and now Providence had taken him mostterribly at his word. 

A week ago---! He groaned at the remembrance of that sunny garden. Inseven days he had found a new world and tried a new life, and had comenow to the end of it. He did not want to die, less now than ever withsuch wide horizons opening before him. But that was the worst of it, hereflected, for to have a great life great hazards must be taken, andthere was always the risk of this sudden extinguisher.... Had he tochoose again, far better the smooth sheltered bypath than this accursedromantic highway on to which he had blundered.... No, by Heaven, no!Confound it, if he had to choose he would do it all again. Somethingstiff and indomitable in his soul was bracing him to a manlier humour. There was no one to see the figure strapped to the fir, but had therebeen a witness he would have noted that at this stage Dickson shut histeeth and that his troubled eyes looked very steadily before him. 

His business, he felt, was to keep from thinking, for if he thought atall there would be a flow of memories--of his wife, his home, hisbooks, his friends--to unman him. So he steeled himself to blankness, like a sleepless man imagining white sheep in a gate.... He noted arobin below the hazels, strutting impudently. And there was a tit on abracken frond, which made the thing sway like one of the see-saws heused to play with as a boy. There was no wind in that undergrowth, andany movement must be due to bird or beast. The tit flew off, and theoscillations of the bracken slowly died away. Then they began again, but more violently, and Dickson could not see the bird that causedthem. It must be something down at the roots of the covert, a rabbit, perhaps, or a fox, or a weasel. 

He watched for the first sign of the beast, and thought he caught aglimpse of tawny fur. Yes, there it was--pale dirty yellow, a weaselclearly. Then suddenly the patch grow larger, and to his amazement helooked at a human face--the face of a pallid small boy. 

A head disentangled itself, followed by thin shoulders, and then by apair of very dirty bare legs. The figure raised itself and lookedsharply round to make certain that the coast was clear. Then it stoodup and saluted, revealing the well-known lineaments of Wee Jaikie. 

At the sight Dickson knew that he was safe by that certainty ofinstinct which is independent of proof, like the man who prays for asign and has his prayer answered. He observed that the boy was quietlysobbing. Jaikie surveyed the position for an instant with red-rimmedeyes and then unclasped a knife, feeling the edge of the blade on histhumb. He darted behind the fir, and a second later Dickson's wristswere free. Then he sawed at the legs, and cut the shackles which tiedthem together, and then--most circumspectly--assaulted the cord whichbound Dickson's neck to the trunk. There now remained only the twobonds which fastened the legs and the body to the tree. 

There was a sound in the wood different from the wind and stream. Jaikie listened like a startled hind. 

"They're comin' back, " he gasped. "Just you bide where ye are and leton ye're still tied up. "

He disappeared in the scrub as inconspicuously as a rat, while two ofthe tinklers came up the slope from the waterside. Dickson in a feverof impatience cursed Wee Jaikie for not cutting his remaining bonds sothat he could at least have made a dash for freedom. And then herealized that the boy had been right. Feeble and cramped as he was, hewould have stood no chance in a race. 

One of the tinklers was the man called Ecky. He had been running hard, and was mopping his brow. 

"Hob's seen the brig, " he said. "It's droppin' anchor ayont theDookits whaur there's a bield frae the wund and deep water. They'll belandit in half an 'oor. Awa' you up to the Hoose and tell Dobson, andme and Sim and Hob will meet the boats at the Garplefit. "

The other cast a glance towards Dickson. 

"What about him?" he asked. 

The two scrutinized their prisoner from a distance of a few paces. Dickson, well aware of his peril, held himself as stiff as if everybond had been in place. The thought flashed on him that if he were tooimmobile they might think he was dying or dead, and come close toexamine him. If they only kept their distance, the dusk of the woodwould prevent them detecting Jaikie's handiwork. 

"What'll you take to let me go?" he asked plaintively. 

"Naething that you could offer, my mannie, " said Ecky. 

"I'll give you a five-pound note apiece. "

"Produce the siller, " said the other. 

"It's in my pocket. "

"It's no' that. We riped your pooches lang syne. "

"I'll take you to Glasgow with me and pay you there. Honour bright. "

Ecky spat. "D'ye think we're gowks? Man, there's no siller ye couldpay wad mak' it worth our while to lowse ye. Bide quiet there andye'll see some queer things ere nicht. C'way, Davie. "

The two set off at a good pace down the stream, while Dickson's pulsingheart returned to its normal rhythm. As the sound of their feet diedaway Wee Jaikie crawled out from cover, dry-eyed now and verybusiness-like. He slit the last thongs, and Dickson fell limply on hisface. 

"Losh, laddie, I'm awful stiff, " he groaned. "Now, listen. Away allyour pith to Dougal, and tell him that the brig's in and the men willbe landing inside the hour. Tell him I'm coming as fast as my legswill let me. The Princess will likely be there already and SirArchibald and his men, but if they're no', tell Dougal they're coming. Haste you, Jaikie. And see here, I'll never forget what you've donefor me the day. You're a fine wee laddie!"

The obedient Die-Hard disappeared, and Dickson painfully andlaboriously set himself to climb the slope. He decided that hisquickest and safest route lay by the highroad, and he had also somehopes of recovering his bicycle. On examining his body he seemed tohave sustained no very great damage, except a painful cramping of legsand arms and a certain dizziness in the head. His pockets had beenthoroughly rifled, and he reflected with amusement that he, thewell-to-do Mr. McCunn, did not possess at the moment a single copper. 

But his spirits were soaring, for somehow his escape had given him anassurance of ultimate success. Providence had directly interfered onhis behalf by the hand of Wee Jaikie, and that surely meant that itwould see him through. But his chief emotion was an ardour ofimpatience to get to the scene of action. He must be at Dalquharterbefore the men from the sea; he must find Dougal and discover hisdispositions. Heritage would be on guard in the Tower, and in a verylittle the enemy would be round it. It would be just like the Princessto try and enter there, but at all costs that must be hindered. Sheand Sir Archie must not be cornered in stone walls, but must keep theircommunications open and fall on the enemy's flank. Oh, if the policewould only come it time, what a rounding up of miscreants that daywould see!

As the trees thinned on the brow of the slope and he saw the sky, herealized that the afternoon was far advanced. It must be well on forfive o'clock. The wind still blew furiously, and the oaks on thefringes of the wood were whipped like saplings. Ruefully he admittedthat the gale would not defeat the enemy. If the brig found asheltered anchorage on the south side of the headland beyond theGarple, it would be easy enough for boats to make the Garple mouth, though it might be a difficult job to get out again. The thoughtquickened his steps, and he came out of cover on to the public roadwithout a prior reconnaissance. Just in front of him stood amotor-bicycle. Something had gone wrong with it for its owner wastinkering at it, on the side farthest from Dickson. A wild hope seizedhim that this might be the vanguard of the police, and he went boldlytowards it. The owner, who was kneeling, raised his face at the soundof footsteps and Dickson looked into his eyes. 

He recognized them only too well. They belonged to the man he had seenin the inn at Kirkmichael, the man whom Heritage had decided to be anAustralian, but whom they now know to be their arch-enemy--the mancalled Paul who had persecuted the Princess for years and whom alone ofall beings on earth she feared. He had been expected before, but hadarrived now in the nick of time while the brig was casting anchor. Saskia had said that he had a devil's brain, and Dickson, as he staredat him, saw a fiendish cleverness in his straight brows and aremorseless cruelty in his stiff jaw and his pale eyes. 

He achieved the bravest act of his life. Shaky and dizzy as he was, with freedom newly opened to him and the mental torments of hiscaptivity still an awful recollection, he did not hesitate. He sawbefore him the villain of the drama, the one man that stood between thePrincess and peace of mind. He regarded no consequences, gave no heedto his own fate, and thought only how to put his enemy out of action. There was a by spanner lying on the ground. He seized it and with allhis strength smote at the man's face. 

The motor-cyclist, kneeling and working hard at his machine, had raisedhis head at Dickson's approach and beheld a wild apparition--a shortman in ragged tweeds, with a bloody brow and long smears of blood onhis cheeks. The next second he observed the threat of attack, andducked his head so that the spanner only grazed his scalp. Themotor-bicycle toppled over, its owner sprang to his feet, and found theshort man, very pale and gasping, about to renew the assault. In such acrisis there was no time for inquiry, and the cyclist was well trainedin self-defence. He leaped the prostrate bicycle, and before hisassailant could get in a blow brought his left fist into violentcontact with his chin. Dickson tottered a step or two and thensubsided among the bracken. 

He did not lose his senses, but he had no more strength in him. He felthorribly ill, and struggled in vain to get up. The cyclist, a giganticfigure, towered above him. "Who the devil are you?" he was asking. "What do you mean by it?"

Dickson had no breath for words, and knew that if he tried to speak hewould be very sick. He could only stare up like a dog at the angryeyes. Angry beyond question they were, but surely not malevolent. Indeed, as they looked at the shameful figure on the ground, amusementfilled them. The face relaxed into a smile. 

"Who on earth are you?" the voice repeated. And then into it camerecognition. "I've seen you before. I believe you're the little man Isaw last week at the Black Bull. Be so good as to explain why you wantto murder me. "

Explanation was beyond Dickson, but his conviction was being woefullyshaken. Saskia had said her enemy was a beautiful as a devil--heremembered the phrase, for he had thought it ridiculous. This man wasmagnificent, but there was nothing devilish in his lean grave face. 

"What's your name?" the voice was asking. 

"Tell me yours first, " Dickson essayed to stutter between spasms ofnausea. 

"My name is Alexander Nicholson, " was the answer. 

"Then you're no' the man. " It was a cry of wrath and despair. 

"You're a very desperate little chap. For whom had I the honour to bemistaken?"

Dickson had now wriggled into a sitting position and had clasped hishands above his aching head. 

"I thought you were a Russian, name of Paul, " he groaned. 

"Paul! Paul who?"

"Just Paul. A Bolshevik and an awful bad lot. "

Dickson could not see the change which his words wrought in the other'sface. He found himself picked up in strong arms and carried to abog-pool where his battered face was carefully washed, his throbbingbrows laved, and a wet handkerchief bound over them. Then he was givenbrandy in the socket of a flask, which eased his nausea. The cyclistran his bicycle to the roadside, and found a seat for Dickson behindthe turf-dyke of the old bucht. 

"Now you are going to tell me everything, " he said. "If the Paul whois your enemy is the Paul I think him, then we are allies. "

But Dickson did not need this assurance. His mind had suddenlyreceived a revelation. The Princess had expected an enemy, but also afriend. Might not this be the long-awaited friend, for whose sake shewas 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 aRussian. But for some years I have made my home with your folk, and Icall myself Alexander Nicholson, which is the English form. Who toldyou about Alexis?

"Give me your hand, " said Dickson shamefacedly. "Man, she's beenlooking 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 youat this moment she's somewhere down about the old Tower, and there'sboatloads of blagyirds landing from the sea. Help me up, man, for Imust 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 stilldeplorably giddy, and his legs showed an unpleasing tendency tocrumple. "I'm fair done, " he moaned. "You see, I've been tied up allday to a tree and had two sore bashes on my head. Get you on thatbicycle and hurry on, and I'll hirple after you the best I can. I'lldirect you the road, and if you're lucky you'll find a Die-Hard aboutthe village. Away with you, man, and never mind me. "

"We go together, " said the other quietly. "You can sit behind me andhang on to my waist. Before you turned up I had pretty well got thething in order. "

Dickson in a fever of impatience sat by while the Russian put thefinishing touches to the machine, and as well as his anxiety allowedput him in possession of the main facts of the story. He told of how heand Heritage had come to Dalquharter, of the first meeting with Saskia, of the trip to Glasgow with the jewels, of the exposure of Loudon thefactor, of last night's doings in the House, and of the journey thatmorning to the Mains of Garple. He sketched the figures on thescene--Heritage and Sir Archie, Dobson and his gang, the GorbalsDie-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'slike this. There's Heritage in the Tower, with Dobson, Leon, andSpidel sitting round him. Somewhere about the place there's thePrincess and Sir Archibald and three men with guns from the Mains. Dougal and his five laddies are running loose in the policies. Andthere's four tinklers and God knows how many foreign ruffians pushingup from the Garplefoot, and a brig lying waiting to carry off theladies. Likewise there's the police, somewhere on the road, though thedear kens when they'll turn up. It's awful the incompetence of ourGovernment, and the rates and taxes that high!... And there's you andme by this roadside, and me no more use than a tattie-bogle.... That'sthe situation, and the question is what's our plan to be? We must keepthe blagyirds in play till the police come, and at the same time wemust keep the Princess out of danger. That's why I'm wanting back, forthey've sore need of a business head. Yon Sir Archibald's a finefellow, but I doubt he'll be a bit rash, and the Princess is no' tohold or bind. Our first job is to find Dougal and get a grip of thefacts. "

"I am going to the Princess, " said the Russian. 

"Ay, that'll be best. You'll be maybe able to manage her, for you'llbe well acquaint. "

"She is my kinswoman. She is also my affianced wife. "

"Keep us!" Dickson exclaimed, with a doleful thought of Heritage. "Whatailed you then no' to look after her better?"

"We have been long separated, because it was her will. She had work todo and disappeared from me, though I searched all Europe for her. Thenshe sent me word, when the danger became extreme, and summoned me toher aid. But she gave me poor directions, for she did not know her ownplans very clearly. She spoke of a place called Darkwater, and I havebeen hunting half Scotland for it. It was only last night that I heardof Dalquharter and guessed that that might be the name. But I was fardown 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 comesagain to her senses. Ten years ago I left Russia, for I was sick ofthe foolishness of my class and wanted a free life in a new world. Iwent to Australia and made good as an engineer. I am a partner in afirm which is pretty well known even in Britain. When war broke out Ireturned to fight for my people, and when Russia fell out of the war, Ijoined the Australians in France and fought with them till theArmistice. And now I have only one duty left, to save the Princess andtake her with me to my new home till Russia is a nation once more. "

Dickson whistled joyfully. "So Mr. Heritage was right. He aye saidyou were an Australian.... And you're a business man! That's grandhearing and puts my mind at rest. You must take charge of the party atthe House, for Sir Archibald's a daft young lad and Mr. Heritage is apoet. I thought I would have to go myself, but I doubt I would just bea hindrance with my dwaibly legs. I'd be better outside, watching forthe police.... Are you ready, sir?"

Dickson not without difficulty perched himself astride the luggagecarrier, firmly grasping the rider round the middle. The machinestarted, but it was evidently in a bad way, for it made poor going tillthe descent towards the main Auchenlochan road. On the slope it warmedup and they crossed the Garple bridge at a fair pace. There was to beno pleasant April twilight, for the stormy sky had already made dusk, and in a very little the dark would fall. So sombre was the eveningthat Dickson did not notice a figure in the shadow of the roadsidepines till it whistled shrilly on its fingers. He cried on Alexis tostop, and, this being accomplished with some suddenness, fell off atDougal'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 eithertwenty-three or twenty-four men--they were gey ill to count--has landedat Garplefit and is makin' their way to the auld Tower. The tinklerswarned 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 Iwouldn't let them. She came wi' a man they call Sir Erchibald andthree gamekeepers wi' guns. I stoppit their cawr up the road andtell'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 andshootin' Dobson if he tried to stop them. 'Havers, ' say I, 'let thembreak their teeth on the Tower, thinkin' the leddy's inside, andthat'll give us time, for Heritage is no' the lad to surrender in ahurry. '"

"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 cropto shift. Sir Erchibald was sayin' that him and the lassie had been tothe Chief Constable, but the man was terrible auld and slow. Theypersuadit him, but he threepit that it would take a long time tocollect his men and that there was no danger o' the brig landin' beforenight. He's wrong there onyway, for they're landit. "

"Dougal, " said Dickson, "you've heard the Princess speak of a friendshe was expecting here called Alexis. This is him. You can address himas Mr. Nicholson. Just arrived in the nick of time. You must get himinto the House, for he's the best right to be beside the lady... Jaikiewould tell you that I've been sore mishandled the day, and am no' veryfit for a battle. But Mr. Nicholson's a business man and he'll do aswell. You're keeping the Die-Hards outside, I hope?"

"Ay. Thomas Yownie's in charge, and Jaikie will be in and out withorders. They've instructions to watch for the polis, and keep an eye onthe Garplefit. It's a mortal long front to hold, but there's no otherway. I must be in the hoose mysel'. Thomas Yownie's headquarters isthe 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. Startyour machine and I'll hang on ahint. We'll try the road by the WestLodge. "

Presently the pair disappeared in the dusk, the noise of the engine wasswallowed up in the wild orchestra of the wind, and Dickson hobbledtowards the village in a state of excitement which made him obliviousof his wounds. That lonely pistol shot was, he felt, the bell to ringup 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 hismind. His giddiness was passing, though the dregs of a headacheremained, and his spirits rose with his responsibilities. At daybreakhe breakfasted out of the Mearns Street provision box, and made tea inone of the Die-Hard's camp kettles. Next he gave some attention to histoilet, necessary after the rough-and-tumble of the night. He madeshift to bathe in icy water from the Tower well, shaved, tidied up hisclothes and found a clean shirt from his pack. He carefully brushed hishair, reminding himself that thus had the Spartans done beforeThermopylae. The neat and somewhat pallid young man that emerged fromthese rites then ascended to the first floor to reconnoitre thelandscape from the narrow unglazed windows. 

If any one had told him a week ago that he would be in so strange aworld he would have quarrelled violently with his informant. A week agohe was a cynical clear-sighted modern, a contemner of illusions, aswallower of formulas, a breaker of shams--one who had seen through theheroical and found it silly. Romance and such-like toys wereplaythings for fatted middle-age, not for strenuous and cold-eyedyouth. But the truth was that now he was altogether spellbound bythese toys. To think that he was serving his lady was rapture-ecstasy, that for her he was single-handed venturing all. He rejoiced to bealone with his private fancies. His one fear was that the part he hadcast himself for might be needless, that the men from the sea would notcome, or that reinforcements would arrive before he should be calledupon. He hoped alone to make a stand against thousands. What theupshot might be he did not trouble to inquire. Of course the Princesswould 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 theHouse. It was Spidel, who limped round the Tower, tried the door, andcame to a halt below the window. Heritage stuck out his head andwished him good morning, getting in reply an amazed stare. The man wasnot disposed to talk, though Heritage made some interestingobservations on the weather, but departed quicker than he came, in thedirection of the West Lodge. 

Just before nine o'clock he returned with Dobson and Leon. They made avery complete reconnaissance of the Tower, and for a moment Heritagethought that they were about to try to force an entrance. They tuggedand hammered at the great oak door, which he had further strengthenedby erecting behind it a pile of the heaviest lumber he could find inthe place. It was imperative that they should not get in, and he gotDickson's pistol ready with the firm intention of shooting them ifnecessary. But they did nothing, except to hold a conference in thehazel clump a hundred yards to the north, when Dobson seemed to belaying down the law, and Leon spoke rapidly with a great fluttering ofhands. They were obviously puzzled by the sight of Heritage, whom theybelieved to have left the neighbourhood. Then Dobson went off, leavingLeon and Spidel on guard, one at the edge of the shrubberies betweenthe 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, andpassed so close to Heritage's window that he could have tossed acigarette on their heads. 

It occurred to him that he ought to get busy with camouflage. They mustbe convinced that the Princess was in the place, for he wanted theirwhole mind to be devoted to the siege. He rummaged among the ladies'baggage, and extracted a skirt and a coloured scarf. The latter hemanaged to flutter so that it could be seen at the window the next timeone of the watchers came within sight. He also fixed up the skirt sothat the fringe of it could be seen, and, when Leon appeared below, hewas in the shadow talking rapid French in a very fair imitation of thetones of Cousin Eugenie. The ruse had its effect, for Leon promptlywent off to tell Spidel, and when Dobson appeared he too was given thenews. This seemed to settle their plans, for all three remained onguard, Dobson nearest to the Tower, seated on an outcrop of rock withhis 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 passedslowly with Heritage. He fell to picturing the fortunes of hisfriends. Dickson and the Princess should by this time be far inland, out of danger and in the way of finding succour. He was confident thatthey would return, but he trusted not too soon, for he hoped for a runfor his money as Horatius in the Gate. After that he was a little tornin his mind. He wanted the Princess to come back and to be somewherenear if there was a fight going, so that she might be a witness of hisdevotion. But she must not herself run any risk, and he became anxiouswhen he remembered her terrible sangfroid. Dickson could no morerestrain her than a child could hold a greyhound.... But of course itwould never come to that. The police would turn up long before thebrig appeared--Dougal had thought that would not be till high tide, between four and five--and the only danger would be to the pirates. Thethree watchers would be put in the bag, and the men from the sea wouldwalk into a neat trap. This reflection seemed to take all the colourout of Heritage's prospect. Peril and heroism were not to be hislot--only boredom. 

A little after twelve two of the tinklers appeared with some news whichmade Dobson laugh and pat them on the shoulder. He seemed to be givingthem directions, pointing seaward and southward. He nodded to theTower, where Heritage took the opportunity of again fluttering Saskia'sscarf athwart the window. The tinklers departed at a trot, and Dobsonlit his pipe as if well pleased. He had some trouble with it in thewind, which had risen to an uncanny violence. Even the solid Towerrocked with it, and the sea was a waste of spindrift and low scurryingcloud. Heritage discovered a new anxiety--this time about thepossibility of the brig landing at all. He wanted a complete bag, andit would be tragic if they got only the three seedy ruffians nowcircumambulating his fortress. 

About one o'clock he was greatly cheered by the sight of Dougal. At themoment Dobson was lunching off a hunk of bread and cheese directlybetween the Tower and the House, just short of the crest of the ridgeon the other side of which lay the stables and the shrubberies; Leonwas on the north side opposite the Tower door, and Spidel was at thesouth end near the edge of the Garple glen. Heritage, watching theridge behind Dobson and the upper windows of the House which appearedover it, saw on the very crest something like a tuft of rusty brackenwhich he had not noticed before. Presently the tuft moved, and a handshot up from it waving a rag of some sort. Dobson at the moment wasengaged with a bottle of porter, and Heritage could safely wave a handin reply. He could now make out clearly the red head of Dougal. 

The Chieftain, having located the three watchers, proceeded to give anexhibition of his prowess for the benefit of the lonely inmate of theTower. Using as cover a drift of bracken, he wormed his way down tillhe was not six yards from Dobson, and Heritage had the privilege ofseeing his grinning countenance a very little way above the innkeeper'shead. Then he crawled back and reached the neighbourhood of Leon, whowas sitting on a fallen Scotch fir. At that moment it occurred to theBelgian to visit Dobson. Heritage's breath stopped, but Dougal wasready, 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 theridge. At the top he waved the object, whatever it was, but Heritagecould not reply, for Dobson happened to be looking towards the window. That was the last he saw of the Chieftain, but presently he realizedwhat 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 somefood from the Mearns Street box, and indulged himself with a glass ofliqueur brandy. He was beginning to feel miserably cold, so he carriedup some broken wood and made a fire on the immense hearth in the upperchamber. Anxiety was clouding his mind again, for it was now twoo'clock, and there was no sign of the reinforcements which Dickson andthe Princess had gone to find. The minutes passed, and soon it wasthree o'clock, and from the window he saw only the top of the gauntshuttered House, now and then hidden by squalls of sleet, and Dobsonsquatted like an Eskimo, and trees dancing like a witch-wood in thegale. All the vigour of the morning seemed to have gone out of hisblood; he felt lonely and apprehensive and puzzled. He wished he hadDickson beside him, for that little man's cheerful voice and complacenttriviality would be a comfort.... Also, he was abominably cold. He puton his waterproof, and turned his attention to the fire. It neededre-kindling, and he hunted in his pockets for paper, finding only theslim 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 ahandful of its fine deckle-edged leaves to get the fire going. Theyburned well, and presently the rest followed. Well for Dickson's peaceof soul that he was not a witness of such vandalism. 

A little warmer but in no way more cheerful, he resumed his watch nearthe window. The day was getting darker, and promised an early dusk. His watch told him that it was after four, and still nothing hadhappened. Where on earth were Dickson and the Princess? Where in thename of all that was holy were the police? Any minute now the brigmight arrive and land its men, and he would be left there as aburnt-offering to their wrath. There must have been an infernal muddlesomewhere.... Anyhow the Princess was out of the trouble, but where theLord alone knew.... Perhaps the reinforcements were lying in wait forthe boats at the Garplefoot. That struck him as a likely explanation, and comforted him. Very soon he might hear the sound of an engagementto the south, and the next thing would be Dobson and his crew inflight. He was determined to be in the show somehow and would be veryclose on their heels. He felt a peculiar dislike to all three, butespecially to Leon. The Belgian's small baby features had for fourdays set him clenching his fists when he thought of them. 

The next thing he saw was one of the tinklers running hard towards theTower. He cried something to Dobson, which woke the latter toactivity. The innkeeper shouted to Leon and Spidel, and the tinkler wasexcitedly questioned. Dobson laughed and slapped his thigh. He gaveorders to the others, and himself joined the tinkler and hurried off inthe direction of the Garplefoot. Something was happening there, something of ill omen, for the man's face and manner had beentriumphant. Were the boats landing?

As Heritage puzzled over this event, another figure appeared on thescene. It was a big man in knickerbockers and mackintosh, who cameround the end of the House from the direction of the South Lodge. Atfirst he thought it was the advance-guard from his own side, the helpwhich Dickson had gone to find, and he only restrained himself in timefrom shouting a welcome. But surely their supports would not advance soconfidently in enemy country. The man strode over the slopes as iflooking for somebody; then he caught sight of Leon and waved to him tocome. Leon must have known him, for he hastened to obey. 

The two were about thirty yards from Heritage's window. Leon wastelling some story volubly, pointing now to the Tower and now towardsthe sea. The big man nodded as if satisfied. Heritage noted that hisright arm was tied up, and that the mackintosh sleeve was empty, andthat brought him enlightenment. It was Loudon the factor, whom Dicksonhad winged the night before. The two of them passed out of view in thedirection 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 intospace, while the enemy plans, moving like clockwork, were approachingtheir consummation. For a second he thought of leaving the Tower andhiding somewhere in the cliffs. He dismissed the notion unwillingly, for he remembered the task that had been set him. He was there to holdthe fort to the last--to gain time, though he could not for the life ofhim see what use time was to be when all the strategy of his own sideseemed to have miscarried. Anyhow, the blackguards would be sold, forthey would not find the Princess. But he felt a horrid void in the pitof his stomach, and a looseness about his knees. 

The moments passed more quickly as he wrestled with his fears. The nexthe 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 tohear it fall, for such a mob could soon force it. But instead a voicecalled 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 headof it, a young man clad in oilskins whose face was dim in the murkyevening. 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 hadrisen, he had forgotten all about the Princess, he did not evenremember his isolation. His job was to make a fight for it. He ran upthe staircase which led to the attics of the Tower, for he recollectedthat there was a window there which looked over the space before thedoor. The place was ruinous, the floor filled with holes, and a partof the roof sagged down in a corner. The stones around the window wereloose and crumbling, and he managed to pull several out so that theslit was enlarged. He found himself looking down on a crowd of men, who had lifted the fallen tree on which Leon had perched, and wereabout to use it as a battering ram. 

"The first fellow who comes within six yards of the door I shoot, " heshouted. 

There was a white wave below as every face was turned to him. He duckedback 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 wallthrough which he could see, and could shoot with his hand at the edgeof the window while keeping his body in cover. The battering partyresumed their task, and as the tree swung nearer, he fired at theforemost of them. He missed, but the shot for a moment suspendedoperations. 

Again they came on, and again he fired. This time he damaged somebody, for the trunk was dropped. 

A voice gave orders, a sharp authoritative voice. The battering squaddissolved, and there was a general withdrawal out of the line of firefrom the window. Was it possible that he had intimidated them? Hecould hear the sound of voices, and then a single figure came intosight again, holding something in its hand. 

He did not fire for he recognized the futility of his efforts. Thebaseball swing of the figure below could not be mistaken. There was aroar beneath, and a flash of fire, as the bomb exploded on the door. Then came a rush of men, and the Tower had fallen. Heritage clamberedthrough a hole in the roof and gained the topmost parapet. He hadstill a pocketful of cartridges, and there in a coign of the oldbattlements he would prove an ugly customer to the pursuit. Only oneat a time could reach that siege perilous.... They would not take longto search the lower rooms, and then would be hot on the trail of theman who had fooled them. He had not a scrap of fear left or even ofanger--only triumph at the thought of how properly those ruffians hadbeen sold. "Like schoolboys they who unaware"--instead of two womenthey had found a man with a gun. And the Princess was miles off andforever beyond their reach. When they had settled with him they wouldno doubt burn the House down, but that would serve them little. Fromhis airy pinnacle he could see the whole sea-front of Huntingtower, ablur in the dusk but for the ghostly eyes of its white-shutteredwindows. 

Something was coming from it, running lightly over the lawns, lost foran instant in the trees, and then appearing clear on the crest of theridge where some hours earlier Dougal had lain. With horror he saw thatit was a girl. She stood with the wind plucking at her skirts andhair, and she cried in a high, clear voice which pierced even theconfusion of the gale. What she cried he could not tell, for it was ina strange tongue.... 

But it reached the besiegers. There was a sudden silence in the dinbelow him and then a confusion of shouting. The men seemed to bepouring out of the gap which had been the doorway, and as he peeredover the parapet first one and then another entered his area of vision. The girl on the ridge, as soon as she saw that she had attractedattention, turned and ran back, and after her up the slopes went thepursuit bunched like hounds on a good scent. 

Mr. John Heritage, swearing terribly, started to retrace his steps. 

CHAPTER XIV

THE SECOND BATTLE OF THE CRUIVES

The military historian must often make shift to write of battles withslender data, but he can pad out his deficiencies by learned parallels. If his were the talented pen describing this, the latest action foughton British soil against a foreign foe, he would no doubt be crippled bythe absence of written orders and war diaries. But how eloquently hewould descant on the resemblance between Dougal and Gouraud--how theplan of leaving the enemy to waste his strength upon a desertedposition was that which on the 15th of July 1918 the French general hadused with decisive effect in Champagne! But Dougal had never heard ofGouraud, and I cannot claim that, like the Happy Warrior, he

 "through the heat of conflict kept the law In calmness made, and saw what he foresaw. "

I have had the benefit of discussing the affair with him and hiscolleagues, but I should offend against historic truth if I representedthe main action as anything but a scrimmage--a "soldiers' battle, " thehistorian would say, a Malplaquet, an Albuera. 

Just after half-past three that afternoon the Commander-in-Chief wasrevealed in a very bad temper. He had intercepted Sir Archie's car, and, since Leon was known to be fully occupied, had brought it in bythe West Lodge, and hidden it behind a clump of laurels. There he hadheld a hoarse council of war. He had cast an appraising eye over Simethe butler, Carfrae the chauffeur, and McGuffog the gamekeeper, and hisbrows had lightened when he beheld Sir Archie with an armful of gunsand two big cartridge-magazines. But they had darkened again at thefirst words of the leader of the reinforcements. 

"Now for the Tower, " Sir Archie had observed cheerfully. "We should bea match for the three watchers, my lad, and it's time that poor devilWhat's-his-name was relieved. "

"A bonny-like plan that would be, " said Dougal. "Man, ye would bewalkin' into the very trap they want. In an hour, or maybe two, therest will turn up from the sea and they'd have ye tight by the neck. Na, na! It's time we're wantin', and the longer they think we're a' inthe auld Tower the better for us. What news o' the polis?"

He listened to Sir Archie's report with a gloomy face. 

"Not afore the darkenin'? They'll be ower late--the polis are aye owerlate. It looks as if we had the job to do oursels. What's your notion?"

"God knows, " said the baronet, whose eyes were on Saskia. "What'syours?"

The deference conciliated Dougal. "There's just the one plan that'sworth a docken. There's five o' us here, and there's plenty weapons. Besides there's five Die-Hards somewhere about, and though they'venever tried it afore they can be trusted to loose off a gun. My adviceis to hide at the Garplefoot and stop the boats landin'. We'd have thetinklers on our flank, no doubt, but I'm not muckle feared o' them. Itwouldn't be easy for the boats to get in wi' this tearin' wind and usfirin' volleys from the shore. "

Sir Archie stared at him with admiration. "You're a hearty youngfire-eater. But, Great Scott! we can't go pottin' at strangers beforewe find out their business. This is a law-abidin' country, and we'renot entitled to start shootin' except in self-defence. You can washthat plan out, for it ain't feasible. "

Dougal spat cynically. "For all that it's the right strawtegy. Man, wemight sink the lot, and then turn and settle wi' Dobson, and all aforethe first polisman showed his neb. It would be a grand performance. But I was feared ye wouldn't be for it.... Well, there's just the oneother thing to do. We must get inside the Hoose and put it in a stateof defence. Heritage has McCunn's pistol, and he'll keep them busy fora bit. When they've finished wi' him and find the place is empty, they'll try the Hoose and we'll give them a warm reception. Thatshould keep us goin' till the polis arrive, unless they're comin' wi'the blind carrier. "

Sir Archie nodded. "But why put ourselves in their power at all?They're at present barking up the wrong tree. Let them bark up anotherwrong 'un. Why shouldn't the House remain empty? I take it we're hereto protect the Princess. Well, we'll have done that if they go offempty-handed. "

Dougal looked up to the heavens. "I wish McCunn was here, " he sighed. "Ay, we've got to protect the Princess, and there's just the one way todo it, and that's to put an end to this crowd o' blagyirds. If theygang empty-handed, they'll come again another day, either here orsomewhere else, and it won't be long afore they get the lassie. But ifwe finish with them now she can sit down wi' an easy mind. That's whywe've got to hang on to them till the polis comes. There's no way outo' this business but a battle. "

He found an ally. "Dougal is right, " said Saskia. "If I am to havepeace, by some way or other the fangs of my enemies must be drawn forever. "

He swung round and addressed her formally. "Mem, I'm askin' ye for thelast time. Will ye keep out of this business? Will ye gang back andsit doun aside Mrs. Morran's fire and have your teas and wait till wecome for ye. Ye can do no good, and ye're puttin' yourself terrible inthe enemy's power. If we're beat and ye're no' there, they get verylittle satisfaction, but if they get you they get what they've comeseekin'. I tell ye straight--ye're an encumbrance. "

She laughed mischievously. "I can shoot better than you, " she said. 

He ignored the taunt. "Will ye listen to sense and fall to the rear?"

"I will not, " she said. 

"Then gang your own gait. I'm ower wise to argy-bargy wi' women. TheHoose be it!"

It was a journey which sorely tried Dougal's temper. The only way inwas by the verandah, but the door at the west end had been locked, andthe ladder had disappeared. Now, of his party three were lame, onelacked an arm, and one was a girl; besides, there were the guns andcartridges to transport. Moreover, at more than one point before theverandah was reached the route was commanded by a point on the ridgenear the old Tower, and that had been Spidel's position when Dougalmade his last reconnaissance. It behoved to pass these points swiftlyand unobtrusively, and his company was neither swift nor unobtrusive. McGuffog had a genius for tripping over obstacles, and Sir Archie wasfor ever proffering his aid to Saskia, who was in a position to giverather than to receive, being far the most active of the party. OnceDougal had to take the gamekeeper's head and force it down, aperformance which would have led to an immediate assault but for SirArchie's presence. Nor did the latter escape. "Will ye stop heedin'the lassie, and attend to your own job, " the Chieftain growled. "Ye'remakin' as much noise as a roadroller. "

Arrived at the foot of the verandah wall there remained the problem ofthe escalade. Dougal clambered up like a squirrel by the help ofcracks in the stones, and he could be heard trying the handle of thedoor into the House. He was absent for about five minutes, and thenhis head peeped over the edge accompanied by the hooks of an ironladder. "From the boiler-house, " he informed them as they stood clearfor the thing to drop. It proved to be little more than half theheight of the wall. 

Saskia ascended first, and had no difficulty in pulling herself overthe parapet. Then came the guns and ammunition, and then the one-armedSime, who turned out to be an athlete. But it was no easy mattergetting up the last three. Sir Archie anathematized his frailties. "Nice old crock to go tiger--shootin' with, " he told the Princess. "Butset me to something where my confounded leg don't get in the way, andI'm still pretty useful!" Dougal, mopping his brow with the rag hecalled his handkerchief, observed sourly that he objected to goingscouting with a herd of elephants. 

Once indoors his spirits rose. The party from the Mains had broughtseveral electric torches, and the one lamp was presently found and lit. "We can't count on the polis, " Dougal announced, "and when theforeigners is finished wi' the Tower they'll come on here. If no', wemust make them. What is it the sodgers call it? Forcin' a battle? Nowsee here! There's the two roads into this place, the back door and theverandy, leavin' out the front door which is chained and lockit. They'll try those two roads first, and we must get them well barricadedin time. But mind, if there's a good few o' them, it'll be an easy jobto batter in the front door or the windies, so we maun be ready forthat. "

He told off a fatigue party--the Princess, Sir Archie, and McGuffog--tohelp in moving furniture to the several doors. Sime and Carfraeattended to the kitchen entrance, while he himself made a tour of theground-floor windows. For half an hour the empty house was loud withstrange sounds. McGuffog, who was a giant in strength, filled thepassage at the verandah end with an assortment of furniture rangingfrom a grand piano to a vast mahogany sofa, while Saskia and Sir Archiepillaged the bedrooms and packed up the interstices with mattresses inlieu of sandbags. Dougal on his turn saw fit to approve the work. 

"That'll fickle the blagyirds. Down at the kitchen door we've got amangle, five wash-tubs, and the best part of a ton o' coal. It's thewindies I'm anxious about, for they're ower big to fill up. But I'vegotten tubs of water below them and a lot o' wire-nettin' I fund in thecellar. "

Sir Archie morosely wiped his brow. "I can't say I ever hated a jobmore, " he told Saskia. "It seems pretty cool to march into somebodyelse's house and make free with his furniture. I hope to goodness ourfriends from the sea do turn up, or we'll look pretty foolish. Loudonwill have a score against me he won't forget. "

"Ye're no' weakenin'?" asked Dougal fiercely. 

"Not a bit. Only hopin' somebody hasn't made a mighty big mistake. "

"Ye needn't be feared for that. Now you listen to your instructions. We're terrible few for such a big place, but we maun make up forshortness o' numbers by extra mobility. The gemkeeper will keep thewindy that looks on the verandy, and fell any man that gets through. You'll hold the verandy door, and the ither lame man--is't Carfrae yecall him?--will keep the back door. I've telled the one-armed man, whohas some kind of a head on him, that he maun keep on the move, watchin'to see if they try the front door or any o' the other windies. If theydo, he takes his station there. D'ye follow?"

Sir Archie nodded gloomily. 

"What is my post?" Saskia asked. 

"I've appointed ye my Chief of Staff, " was the answer. "Ye see we'veno reserves. If this door's the dangerous bit, it maun be reinforcedfrom elsewhere; and that'll want savage thinkin'. Ye'll have to be ayeon the move, Mem, and keep me informed. If they break in at two bits, we're beat, and there'll be nothing for it but to retire to our lastposition. Ye ken the room ayont the hall where they keep the coats. That's our last trench, and at the worst we fall back there and stickit out. It has a strong door and a wee windy, so they'll no' be ableto get in on our rear. We should be able to put up a good defencethere, unless they fire the place over our heads.... Now, we'd bettergive out the guns. "

"We don't want any shootin' if we can avoid it, " said Sir Archie, whofound his distaste for Dougal growing, though he was under the spell ofthe one being there who knew precisely his own mind. 

"Just what I was goin' to say. My instructions is, reserve your fire, and don't loose off till you have a man up against the end o' yourbarrel. "

"Good Lord, we'll get into a horrible row. The whole thing may be amistake, and we'll be had up for wholesale homicide. No man shall fireunless I give the word. "

The Commander-in-Chief looked at him darkly. Some bitter retort was onhis tongue, but he restrained himself. 

"It appears, " he said, "that ye think I'm doin' all this for fun. I'llno' argy wi' ye. There can be just the one general in a battle, butI'll give ye permission to say the word when to fire.... Macgreegor!"he muttered, a strange expletive only used in moments of deep emotion. "I'll wager ye'll be for sayin' the word afore I'd say it mysel'. "

He turned to the Princess. "I hand over to you, till I am back, for Imaun be off and see to the Die-Hards. I wish I could bring them inhere, but I daren't lose my communications. I'll likely get in by theboiler-house skylight when I come back, but it might be as well to keepa road open here unless ye're actually attacked. "

Dougal clambered over the mattresses and the grand piano; a flicker ofwaning daylight appeared for a second as he squeezed through the door, and Sir Archie was left staring at the wrathful countenance ofMcGuffog. He laughed ruefully. 

"I've been in about forty battles, and here's that little devil ratherworried about my pluck and talkin' to me like a corps commander to anewly joined second-lieutenant. All the same he's a remarkable child, and we'd better behave as if we were in for a real shindy. What do youthink, Princess?"

"I think we are in for what you call a shindy. I am in command, remember. I order you to serve out the guns. "

This was done, a shot-gun and a hundred cartridges to each, whileMcGuffog, who was a marksman, was also given a sporting Mannlicher, andtwo other rifles, a . 303 and a small-bore Holland, were kept in reservein the hall. Sir Archie, free from Dougal's compelling presence, gavethe gamekeeper peremptory orders not to shoot till he was bidden, andCarfrae at the kitchen door was warned to the same effect. Theshuttered house, where the only light apart from the garden-room wasthe feeble spark of the electric torches, had the most disastrouseffect upon his spirits. The gale which roared in the chimney andeddied among the rafters of the hall seemed an infernal commotion in atomb. 

"Let's go upstairs, " he told Saskia; "there must be a view from theupper windows. "

"You can see the top of the old Tower, and part of the sea, " she said. "I know it well, for it was my only amusement to look at it. On cleardays, too, one could see high mountains far in the west. " Hisdepression seemed to have affected her, for she spoke listlessly, unlike the vivid creature who had led the way in. 

In a gaunt west-looking bedroom, the one in which Heritage and Dicksonhad camped the night before, they opened a fold of the shutters andlooked out into a world of grey wrack and driving rain. The Tower roofshowed mistily beyond the ridge of down, but its environs were not intheir prospect. The lower regions of the House had been gloomy enough, but this bleak place with its drab outlook struck a chill to SirArchie's soul. He dolefully lit a cigarette. 

"This is a pretty rotten show for you, " he told her. "It strikes me asa rather unpleasant brand of nightmare. "

"I have been living with nightmares for three years, " she said wearily. 

He cast his eyes round the room. "I think the Kennedys were mad tobuild this confounded barrack. I've always disliked it, and oldQuentin hadn't any use for it either. Cold, cheerless, rawmonstrosity! It hasn't been a very giddy place for you, Princess. "

"It has been my prison, when I hoped it would be a sanctuary. But itmay yet be my salvation. "

"I'm sure I hope so. I say, you must be jolly hungry. I don't supposethere's any chance of tea for you. "

She shook her head. She was looking fixedly at the Tower, as if sheexpected something to appear there, and he followed her eyes. 

"Rum old shell, that. Quentin used to keep all kinds of live stockthere, and when we were boys it was our castle where we played at bein'robber chiefs. It'll be dashed queer if the real thing should turn upthis time. I suppose McCunn's Poet is roostin' there all by his lone. Can't say I envy him his job. "

Suddenly she caught his arm. "I see a man, " she whispered. "There! Heis behind those far bushes. There is his head again!"

It was clearly a man, but he presently disappeared, for he had comeround by the south end of the House, past the stables, and had now goneover the ridge. 

"The cut of his jib us uncommonly like Loudon, the factor. I thoughtMcCunn had stretched him on a bed of pain. Lord, if this thing shouldturn out a farce, I simply can't face Loudon.... I say, Princess, youdon't suppose by any chance that McCunn's a little bit wrong in thehead?"

She turned her candid eyes on him. "You are in a very doubting mood. "

"My feet are cold and I don't mind admittin' it. Hanged if I know whatit is, but I don't feel this show a bit real. If it isn't, we're in afair way to make howlin' idiots of ourselves, and get pretty wellembroiled with the law. It's all right for the red-haired boy, for hecan take everything seriously, even play. I could do the same thingmyself when I was a kid. I don't mind runnin' some kind of risk--I'vehad a few in my time--but this is so infernally outlandish, and I--Idon't quite believe in it. That is to say, I believe in it rightenough when I look at you or listen to McCunn, but as soon as my eyesare off you I begin to doubt again. I'm gettin' old and I've a stakein the country, and I daresay I'm gettin' a bit of a prig--anyway Idon't want to make a jackass of myself. Besides, there's this foulweather and this beastly house to ice my feet. "

He broke off with an exclamation, for on the grey cloud-bounded stagein which the roof of the Tower was the central feature, actors hadappeared. Dim hurrying shapes showed through the mist, dipping overthe ridge, as if coming from the Garplefoot. 

She seized his arm and he saw that her listlessness was gone. Her eyeswere shining. 

"It is they, " she cried. "The nightmare is real at last. Do you doubtnow?"

He could only stare, for these shapes arriving and vanishing like wispsof fog still seemed to him phantasmal. The girl held his arm tightlyclutched, and craned towards the window space. He tried to open theframe, and succeeded in smashing the glass. A swirl of wind droveinwards and blew a loose lock of Saskia's hair across his brow. 

"I wish Dougal were back, " he muttered, and then came the crack of ashot. 

The pressure on his arm slackened, and a pale face was turned to him. "He is alone--Mr. Heritage. He has no chance. They will kill him likea dog. "

"They'll never get in, " he assured her. "Dougal said the place couldhold out for hours. "

Another shot followed and presently a third. She twined her hands andher eyes were wild. 

"We can't leave him to be killed, " she gasped. 

"It's the only game. We're playin' for time, remember. Besides, hewon't be killed. Great Scott!"

As he spoke, a sudden explosion cleft the drone of the wind and a patchof gloom flashed into yellow light. 

"Bomb!" he cried. "Lord, I might have thought of that. "

The girl had sprung back from the window. "I cannot bear it. I willnot see him murdered in sight of his friends. I am going to showmyself, and when they see me they will leave him.... No, you must stayhere. Presently they will be round this house. Don't be afraid forme--I am very quick of foot. "

"For God's sake, don't! Here, Princess, stop, " and he clutched at herskirt. "Look here, I'll go. "

"You can't. You have been wounded. I am in command, you know. Keepthe door open till I come back. "

He hobbled after her, but she easily eluded him. She was smiling now, and blew a kiss to him. "La, la, la, " she trilled, as she ran down thestairs. He heard her voice below, admonishing McGuffog. Then he pulledhimself together and went back to the window. He had brought the littleHolland with him, and he poked its barrel through the hole in the glass. 

"Curse my game leg, " he said, almost cheerfully, for the situation wasnow becoming one with which he could cope. "I ought to be able to holdup the pursuit a bit. My aunt! What a girl!"

With the rifle cuddled to his shoulder he watched a slim figure comeinto sight on the lawn, running towards the ridge. He reflected thatshe must have dropped from the high verandah wall. That reminded himthat something must be done to make the wall climbable for her return, so he went down to McGuffog, and the two squeezed through thebarricaded door to the verandah. The boilerhouse ladder was still inposition, but it did not reach half the height, so McGuffog was adjuredto stand by to help, and in the meantime to wait on duty by the wall. Then he hurried upstairs to his watch-tower. 

The girl was in sight, almost on the crest of the high ground. Thereshe stood for a moment, one hand clutching at her errant hair, theother shielding her eyes from the sting of the rain. He heard her cry, as Heritage had heard her, but since the wind was blowing towards himthe sound came louder and fuller. Again she cried, and then stoodmotionless with her hands above her head. It was only for an instant, for the next he saw she had turned and was racing down the slope, jumping the little scrogs of hazel like a deer. On the ridge appearedfaces, and then over it swept a mob of men. 

She had a start of some fifty yards, and laboured to increase it, having doubtless the verandah wall in mind. Sir Archie, sick withanxiety, nevertheless spared time to admire her prowess. "Gad! she's amiler, " he ejaculated. "She'll do it. I'm hanged if she don't do it. "

Against men in seamen's boots and heavy clothing she had a clearadvantage. But two shook themselves loose from the pack and began togain on her. At the main shrubbery they were not thirty yards behind, and in her passage through it her skirts must have delayed her, forwhen she emerged the pursuit had halved the distance. He got thesights of the rifle on the first man, but the lawns sloped up towardsthe house, and to his consternation he found that the girl was in theline of fire. Madly he ran to the other window of the room, tore backthe shutters, shivered the glass, and flung his rifle to his shoulder. The fellow was within three yards of her, but, thank God! he had now aclear field. He fired low and just ahead of him, and had thesatisfaction to see him drop like a rabbit, shot in the leg. Hiscompanion stumbled over him, and for a moment the girl was safe. 

But her speed was failing. She passed out of sight on the verandahside of the house, and the rest of the pack had gained ominously overthe easier ground of the lawn. He thought for a moment of trying tostop them by his fire, but realized that if every shot told there wouldstill be enough of them left to make sure of her capture. The onlychance was at the verandah, and he went downstairs at a pace undreamedof since the days when he had two whole legs. 

McGuffog, Mannlicher in hand, was poking his neck over the wall. Thepursuit had turned the corner and were about twenty yards off; the girlwas at the foot of the ladder, breathless, drooping with fatigue. Shetried to climb, limply and feebly, and very slowly, as if she were toogiddy to see clear. Above were two cripples, and at her back the vanof the now triumphant pack. 

Sir Archie, game leg or no, was on the parapet preparing to drop downand hold off the pursuit were it only for seconds. But at that momenthe was aware that the situation had changed. 

At the foot of the ladder a tall man seemed to have sprung out of theground. He caught the girl in his arms, climbed the ladder, andMcGuffog's great hands reached down and seized her and swung her intosafety. Up the wall, by means of cracks and tufts, was shinning asmall boy. 

The stranger coolly faced the pursuers, and at the sight of him theychecked, those behind stumbling against those in front. He was speakingto them in a foreign tongue, and to Sir Archie's ear the words werelike the crack of a lash. The hesitation was only for a moment, for avoice among them cried out, and the whole pack gave tongue shrilly andsurged on again. But that instant of check had given the stranger hischance. He was up the ladder, and, gripping the parapet, found restfor his feet in a fissure. Then he bent down, drew up the ladder, handed it to McGuffog, and with a mighty heave pulled himself over thetop. 

He seemed to hope to defend the verandah, but the door at the west endwas being assailed by a contingent of the enemy, and he saw that itsthin woodwork was yielding. 

"Into the House, " he cried, as he picked up the ladder and tossed itover the wall on the pack surging below. He was only just in time, forthe west door yielded. In two steps he had followed McGuffog throughthe chink into the passage, and the concussion of the grand pianopushed hard against the verandah door from within coincided with thefirst battering on the said door from without. 

In the garden-room the feeble lamp showed a strange grouping. Saskiahad sunk into a chair to get her breath, and seemed too dazed to beaware of her surroundings. Dougal was manfully striving to appear athis ease, but his lip was quivering. 

"A near thing that time, " he observed. "It was the blame of that man'sauld motor-bicycle. "

The stranger cast sharp eyes around the place and company. 

"An awkward corner, gentlemen, " he said. "How many are there of you?Four men and a boy? And you have placed guards at all the entrances?"

"They have bombs, " Sir Archie reminded him. 

"No doubt. But I do not think they will use them here--or their guns, unless there is no other way. Their purpose is kidnapping, and theyhope to do it secretly and slip off without leaving a trace. If theyslaughter us, as they easily can, the cry will be out against them, andtheir vessel will be unpleasantly hunted. Half their purpose is alreadyspoiled, for it's no longer secret.... They may break us by sheerweight, and I fancy the first shooting will be done by us. It's thewindows I'm afraid of. "

Some tone in his quiet voice reached the girl in the wicker chair. Shelooked up wildly, saw him, and with a cry of "Alesha" ran to his arms. There she hung, while his hand fondled her hair, like a mother with ascared child. Sir Archie, watching the whole thing in somestupefaction, thought he had never in his days seen more nobly matchedhuman creatures. 

"It is my friend, " she cried triumphantly, "the friend whom I appointedto meet me here. Oh, I did well to trust him. Now we need not fearanything. "

As if in ironical answer came a great crashing at the verandah door, and the twanging of chords cruelly mishandled. The grand piano wassuffering internally from the assaults of the boiler-house ladder. 

"Wull I gie them a shot?" was McGuffog's hoarse inquiry. 

"Action stations, " Alexis ordered, for the command seemed to haveshifted to him from Dougal. "The windows are the danger. The boy willpatrol the ground floor, and give us warning, and I and this man, "pointing to Sime, "will be ready at the threatened point. And, forGod's sake, no shooting, unless I give the word. If we take them on atthat game we haven't a chance. "

He said something to Saskia in Russian and she smiled assent and wentto Sir Archie's side. "You and I must keep this door, " she said. 

Sir Archie was never very clear afterwards about the events of the nexthour. The Princess was in the maddest spirits, as if the burden ofthree years had slipped from her and she was back in her firstgirlhood. She sang as she carried more lumber to the pile--perhaps thesong which had once entranced Heritage, but Sir Archie had no ear formusic. She mocked at the furious blows which rained at the other end, for the door had gone now, and in the windy gap could be seen a blur ofdark faces. Oddly enough, he found his own spirits mounting to meethers. It was real business at last, the qualms of the civilian hadbeen forgotten, and there was rising in him that joy in a scrap whichhad once made him one of the most daring airmen on the Western Front. The only thing that worried him now was the coyness about shooting. What on earth were his rifles and shot-guns for unless to be used? Hehad seen the enemy from the verandah wall, and a more ruffianly crew hehad never dreamed of. They meant the uttermost business, and againstsuch it was surely the duty of good citizens to wage whole-hearted war. 

The Princess was humming to herself a nursery rhyme. "THE KING OFSPAIN'S DAUGHTER, " she crooned, "CAME TO VISIT ME, AND ALL FOR THESAKE----Oh, that poor piano!" In her clear voice she cried somethingin Russian, and the wind carried a laugh from the verandah. At thesound of it she stopped. "I had forgotten, " she said. "Paul is there. I had forgotten. " After that she was very quiet, but she redoubled herlabours at the barricade. 

To the man it seemed that the pressure from without was slackening. Hecalled to McGuffog to ask about the garden-room window, and the replywas reassuring. The gamekeeper was gloomily contemplating Dougal'stubs of water and wire-netting, as he might have contemplated a vermintrap. 

Sir Archie was growing acutely anxious--the anxiety of the defender ofa straggling fortress which is vulnerable at a dozen points. It seemedto him that strange noises were coming from the rooms beyond the hall. Did the back door lie that way? And was not there a smell of smoke inthe air? If they tried fire in such a gale the place would burn likematchwood. 

He left his post and in the hall found Dougal. 

"All quiet, " the Chieftain reported. "Far ower quiet. I don't likeit. The enemy's no' puttin' out his strength yet. The Russian says a'the west windies are terrible dangerous. Him and the chauffeur's doin'their best, but ye can't block thae muckle glass panes. "

He returned to the Princess, and found that the attack had indeedlanguished on that particular barricade. The withers of the grandpiano were left unwrung, and only a faint scuffling informed him thatthe verandah was not empty. "They're gathering for an attackelsewhere, " he told himself. But what if that attack were a feint? Heand McGuffog must stick to their post, for in his belief the verandahdoor and the garden-room window were the easiest places where an entryin mass could be forced. Suddenly Dougal's whistle blew, and with itcame a most almighty crash somewhere towards the west side. With ashout of "Hold Tight, McGuffog, " Sir Archie bolted into the hall, and, led by the sound, reached what had once been the ladies' bedroom. Astrange sight met his eyes, for the whole framework of one windowseemed to have been thrust inward, and in the gap Alexis was swinging afender. Three of the enemy were in the room--one senseless on thefloor, one in the grip of Sime, whose single hand was tightly clenchedon his throat, and one engaged with Dougal in a corner. The Die-Hardleader was sore pressed, and to his help Sir Archie went. The freshassault made the seaman duck his head, and Dougal seized the occasionto smite him hard with something which caused him to roll over. It wasLeon's life-preserver which he had annexed that afternoon. 

Alexis at the window seemed to have for a moment daunted the attack. "Bring that table, " he cried, and the thing was jammed into the gap. "Now you"--this to Sime--"get the man from the back door to hold thisplace with his gun. There's no attack there. It's about time forshooting now, or we'll have them in our rear. What in heaven is that?"

It was McGuffog whose great bellow resounded down the corridor. SirArchie turned and shuffled back, to be met by a distressing spectacle. The lamp, burning as peacefully as it might have burned on an oldlady's tea-table, revealed the window of the garden-room driven bodilyinward, shutters and all, and now forming an inclined bridge overDougal's ineffectual tubs. In front of it stood McGuffog, swinging hisgun by the barrel and yelling curses, which, being mainly couched inthe vernacular, were happily meaningless to Saskia. She herself stoodat the hall door, plucking at something hidden in her breast. He sawthat it was a little ivory-handled pistol. 

The enemy's feint had succeeded, for even as Sir Archie looked threemen leaped into the room. On the neck of one the butt of McGuffog'sgun crashed, but two scrambled to their feet and made for the girl. SirArchie met the first with his fist, a clean drive on the jaw, followedby a damaging hook with his left that put him out of action. The otherhesitated for an instant and was lost, for McGuffog caught him by thewaist from behind and sent him through the broken frame to join hiscomrades without. 

"Up the stairs, " Dougal was shouting, for the little room beyond thehall was clearly impossible. "Our flank's turned. They're pourin'through the other windy. " Out of a corner of his eye Sir Archie caughtsight of Alexis, with Sime and Carfrae in support, being slowly forcedtowards them along the corridor. "Upstairs, " he shouted. "Come on, McGuffog. Lead on, Princess. " He dashed out the lamp, and the placewas in darkness. 

With this retreat from the forward trench line ended the opening phaseof the battle. It was achieved in good order, and position was takenup on the first floor landing, dominating the main staircase and thepassage that led to the back stairs. At their back was a shortcorridor ending in a window which gave on the north side of the Houseabove the verandah, and from which an active man might descend to theverandah roof. It had been carefully reconnoitred beforehand byDougal, and his were the dispositions. 

The odd thing was that the retreating force were in good heart. Thethree men from the Mains were warming to their work, and McGuffog worean air of genial ferocity. "Dashed fine position I call this, " saidSir Archie. Only Alexis was silent and preoccupied. "We are still attheir mercy, " he said. "Pray God your police come soon. " He forbadeshooting yet awhile. "The lady is our strong card, " he said. "Theywon't use their guns while she is with us, but if it ever comes toshooting they can wipe us out in a couple of minutes. One of you watchthat window, for Paul Abreskov is no fool. "

Their exhilaration was short-lived. Below in the hall it was blackdarkness save for a greyness at the entrance of the verandah passage;but the defence was soon aware that the place was thick with men. Presently there came a scuffling from Carfrae's post towards the backstairs, and a cry as of some one choking. And at the same moment aflare was lit below which brought the whole hall from floor to raftersinto blinding light. 

It revealed a crowd of figures, some still in the hall and somehalf-way up the stairs, and it revealed, too, more figures at the endof the upper landing where Carfrae had been stationed. The shapes weremotionless like mannequins in a shop window. 

"They've got us treed all right, " Sir Archie groaned. "What the devilare they waiting for?"

"They wait for their leader, " said Alexis. 

No one of the party will ever forget the ensuing minutes. After thehubbub of the barricades the ominous silence was like icy water, chilling and petrifying with an indefinable fear. There was no soundbut the wind, but presently mingled with it came odd wild voices. 

"Hear to the whaups, " McGuffog whispered. 

Sir Archie, who found the tension unbearable, sought relief incontradiction. "You're an unscientific brute, McGuffog, " he told hishenchman. "It's a disgrace that a gamekeeper should be such a rottennaturalist. What would whaups be doin' on the shore at this time ofyear?"

"A' the same, I could swear it's whaups, Sir Erchibald. "

Then Dougal broke in and his voice was excited. It's no' whaups. That's our patrol signal. Man, there's hope for us yet. I believeit's the polis. ' His words were unheeded, for the figures below drewapart and a young man came through them. His beautifully-shaped darkhead was bare, and as he moved he unbuttoned his oilskins and showedthe trim dark-blue garb of the yachtsman. He walked confidently up thestairs, an odd elegant figure among his heavy companions. 

"Good afternoon, Alexis, " he said in English. "I think we may nowregard this interesting episode as closed. I take it that yousurrender. Saskia, dear, you are coming with me on a little journey. Will you tell my men where to find your baggage?"

The reply was in Russian. Alexis' voice was as cool as the other's, and it seemed to wake him to anger. He replied in a rapid torrent ofwords, and appealed to the men below, who shouted back. The flare wasdying down, and shadows again hid most of the hall. 

Dougal crept up behind Sir Archie. "Here, I think it's the polis. They're whistlin' outbye, and I hear folk cryin' to each other--no' theforeigners. "

Again Alexis spoke, and then Saskia joined in. What she said rangsharp with contempt, and her fingers played with her little pistol. 

Suddenly before the young man could answer Dobson bustled toward him. The innkeeper was labouring under some strong emotion, for he seemed tobe pleading and pointing urgently towards the door. 

"I tell ye it's the polis, " whispered Dougal. "They're nickit. "

There was a swaying in the crowd and anxious faces. Men surged in, whispered, and went out, and a clamour arose which the leader stilledwith a fierce gesture. 

"You there, " he cried, looking up, "you English. We mean you no ill, but I require you to hand over to me the lady and the Russian who iswith her. I give you a minute by my watch to decide. If you refuse, my men are behind you and around you, and you go with me to be punishedat my leisure. "

"I warn you, " cried Sir Archie. "We are armed, and will shoot down anyone who dares to lay a hand on us. "

"You fool, " came the answer. "I can send you all to eternity beforeyou touch a trigger. "

Leon was by his side now--Leon and Spidel, imploring him to dosomething which he angrily refused. Outside there was a new clamour, faces showing at the door and then vanishing, and an anxious hum filledthe hall.... Dobson appeared again and this time he was a figure offury. 

"Are ye daft, man?" he cried. "I tell ye the polis are closin' roundus, and there's no' a moment to lose if we would get back to the boats. If ye'll no' think o' your own neck, I'm thinkin' o' mine. The wholethings a bloody misfire. Come on, lads, if ye're no besotted ondestruction. "

Leon laid a hand on the leader's arm and was roughly shaken off. Spidelfared no better, and the little group on the upper landing saw the twoshrug their shoulders and make for the door. The hall was emptyingfast and the watchers had gone from the back stairs. The young man'svoice rose to a scream; he commanded, threatened, cursed; but panic wasin the air and he had lost his mastery. 

"Quick, " croaked Dougal, "now's the time for the counter-attack. "

But the figure on the stairs held them motionless. They could not seehis face, but by instinct they knew that it was distraught with furyand defeat. The flare blazed up again as the flame caught a knot offresh powder, and once more the place was bright with the uncannylight.... The hall was empty save for the pale man who was in the actof turning. 

He looked back. "If I go now, I will return. The world is not wideenough to hide you from me, Saskia. "

"You will never get her, " said Alexis. 

A sudden devil flamed into his eyes, the devil of some ancestralsavagery, which would destroy what is desired but unattainable. Heswung round, his hand went to his pocket, something clacked, and hisarm shot out like a baseball pitcher's. 

So intent was the gaze of the others on him, that they did not see asecond figure ascending the stairs. Just as Alexis flung himselfbefore the Princess, the new-comer caught the young man's outstretchedarm and wrenched something from his hand. The next second he had hurledit into a far corner where stood the great fireplace. There was ablinding sheet of flame, a dull roar, and then billow upon billow ofacrid smoke. As it cleared they saw that the fine Italianchimneypiece, the pride of the builder of the House, was a mass ofsplinters, and that a great hole had been blown through the wall intowhat had been the dining-room.... A figure was sitting on the bottomstep feeling its bruises. The last enemy had gone. 

When Mr. John Heritage raised his eyes he saw the Princess with a verypale face in the arms of a tall man whom he had never seen before. Ifhe was surprised at the sight, he did not show it. "Nasty little bombthat. I remember we struck the brand first in July '18. "

"Are they rounded up?" Sir Archie asked. 

"They've bolted. Whether they'll get away is another matter. I lefthalf the mounted police a minute ago at the top of the West Lodgeavenue. The other lot went to the Garplefoot to cut off the boats. "

"Good Lord, man, " Sir Archie cried, "the police have been here for thelast ten minutes. "

"You're wrong. They came with me. "

"Then what on earth---" began the astonished baronet. He stoppedshort, for he suddenly got his answer. Into the hall limped a boy. Never was there seen so ruinous a child. He was dripping wet, hisshirt was all but torn off his back, his bleeding nose was poorlystaunched by a wisp of handkerchief, his breeches were in ribbons, andhis poor bare legs looked as if they had been comprehensively kickedand scratched. Limpingly he entered, yet with a kind of pride, likesome small cock-sparrow who has lost most of his plumage but hasvanquished his adversary. 

With a yell Dougal went down the stairs. The boy saluted him, and theygravely shook hands. It was the meeting of Wellington and Blucher. 

The Chieftain's voice shrilled in triumph, but there was a break in it. The glory was almost too great to be borne. 

"I kenned it, " he cried. "It was the Gorbals Die-Hards. There standsthe man that done it.... Ye'll no' fickle Thomas Yownie. "

CHAPTER XV

THE GORBALS DIE-HARDS GO INTO ACTION

We left Mr. McCunn, full of aches but desperately resolute in spirit, hobbling by the Auchenlochan road into the village of Dalquharter. Hisgoal was Mrs. Morran's hen-house, which was Thomas Yownie's POSTE DECOMMANDEMENT. The rain had come on again, and, though in other weatherthere would have been a slow twilight, already the shadow of night hadthe world in its grip. The sea even from the high ground wasinvisible, and all to westward and windward was a ragged screen of darkcloud. It was foul weather for foul deeds. Thomas Yownie was not inthe hen-house, but in Mrs. Morran's kitchen, and with him were thepug-faced boy know as Old Bill, and the sturdy figure of PeterPaterson. But the floor was held by the hostess. She still wore herbig boots, her petticoats were still kilted, and round her venerablehead in lieu of a bonnet was drawn a tartan shawl. 

"Eh, Dickson, but I'm blithe to see ye. And puir man, ye've been sairmishandled. This is the awfu'est Sabbath day that ever you and me pitin. I hope it'll be forgiven us.... Whaur's the young leddy?"

"Dougal was saying she was in the House with Sir Archibald and the menfrom the Mains. "

"Wae's me!" Mrs. Morran keened. "And what kind o' place is yon forher? Thae laddies tell me there's boatfu's o' scoondrels landit at theGarplefit. They'll try the auld Tower, but they'll no' wait there whenthey find it toom, and they'll be inside the Hoose in a jiffy and awa'wi' the puir lassie. Sirs, it maunna be. Ye're lippenin' to thepolis, but in a' my days I never kenned the polis in time. We maun beup and daein' oorsels. Oh, if I could get a haud o' that red-heidedDougal... "

As she spoke there came on the wind the dull reverberation of anexplosion. 

"Keep us, what's that?" she cried. 

"It's dinnymite, " said Peter Paterson. 

"That's the end o' the auld Tower, " observed Thomas Yownie in hisquiet, even voice. "And it's likely the end o' the man Heritage. "

"Lord peety us!" the old woman wailed. "And us standin' here likestookies and no' liftin' a hand. Awa' wi ye, laddies, and daesomething. Awa' you too, Dickson, or I'll tak' the road mysel'. "

"I've got orders, " said the Chief of Staff, "no' to move till thesityation's clear. Napoleon's up at the Tower and Jaikie's in thepolicies. I maun wait on their reports. "

For a moment Mrs. Morran's attention was distracted by Dickson, whosuddenly felt very faint and sat down heavily on a kitchen chair. "Man, ye're as white as a dish-clout, " she exclaimed with compunction. "Ye'refair wore out, and ye'll have had nae meat sin' your breakfast. See, and I'll get ye a cup o' tea. "

She proved to be in the right, for as soon as Dickson had swallowedsome mouthfuls of her strong scalding brew the colour came back to hischeeks, and he announced that he felt better. "Ye'll fortify it wi' adram, " she told him, and produced a black bottle from her cupboard. "Myfather aye said that guid whisky and het tea keepit the doctor's gigoot o' the close. "

The back door opened and Napoleon entered, his thin shanks blue withcold. He saluted and made his report in a voice shrill with excitement. 

"The Tower has fallen. They've blown in the big door, and the feck o'them's inside. "

"And Mr. Heritage?" was Dickson's anxious inquiry. 

"When I last saw him he was up at a windy, shootin'. I think he'sgotten on to the roof. I wouldna wonder but the place is on fire. "

"Here, this is awful, " Dickson groaned. "We can't let Mr. Heritage bekilled that way. What strength is the enemy?"

"I counted twenty-seven, and there's stragglers comin' up from theboats. "

"And there's me and you five laddies here, and Dougal and the othersshut up in the House. "

He stopped in sheer despair. It was a fix from which the mostenlightened business mind showed no escape. Prudence, inventiveness, were no longer in question; only some desperate course of violence. 

"We must create a diversion, " he said. "I'm for the Tower, and youladdies must come with me. We'll maybe see a chance. Oh, but I wish Ihad my wee pistol. "

"If ye're gaun there, Dickson, I'm comin' wi' ye, " Mrs Morran announced. 

Her words revealed to Dickson the preposterousness of the wholesituation, and for all his anxiety he laughed. "Five laddies, amiddle-aged man, and an auld wife, " he cried. "Dod, it's prettyhopeless. It's like the thing in the Bible about the weak things ofthe world trying to confound the strong. "

"The Bible's whiles richt, " Mrs. Morran answered drily. "Come on, forthere's no time to lose. "

The door opened again to admit the figure of Wee Jaikie. There were notears in his eyes, and his face was very white. 

"They're a' round the Hoose, " he croaked. "I was up a tree forenentthe verandy and seen them. The lassie ran oot and cried on them fromthe top o' the brae, and they a' turned and hunted her back. Gosh, butit was a near thing. I seen the Captain sklimmin' the wall, and amuckle man took the lassie and flung her up the ladder. They got insidejust in time and steekit the door, and now the whole pack is roarin'round the Hoose seekin' a road in. They'll no' be long over the job, neither. "

"What about Mr. Heritage?"

"They're no' heedin' about him any more. The auld Tower's bleezin'. "

"Worse and worse, " said Dickson. "If the police don't come in the nextten minutes, they'll be away with the Princess. They've beaten allDougal's plans, and it's a straight fight with odds of six to one. It'snot possible. "

Mrs. Morran for the first time seemed to lose hope. "Eh, the puirlassie!" she wailed, and sinking on a chair covered her face with hershawl. 

"Laddies, can you no' think of a plan?" asked Dickson, his voice flatwith despair. 

Then Thomas Yownie spoke. So far he had been silent, but under histangled thatch of hair his mind had been busy. Jaikie's report seemedto bring him to a decision. 

"It's gey dark, " he said, "and it's gettin' darker. "

There was that in his voice which promised something, and Dicksonlistened. 

"The enemy's mostly foreigners, but Dobson's there and I think he's akind of guide to them. Dobson's feared of the polis, and if we canterrify Dobson he'll terrify the rest. "

"Ay, but where are the police?"

"They're no' here yet, but they're comin'. The fear o' them is aye inDobson's mind. If he thinks the polis has arrived, he'll put the windup the lot.... WE maun be the polis. "

Dickson could only stare while the Chief of Staff unfolded his scheme. I do not know to whom the Muse of History will give the credit of thetactics of "Infiltration, " whether to Ludendorff or von Hutier or someother proud captain of Germany, or to Foch, who revised and perfectedthem. But I know that the same notion was at this moment of crisisconceived by Thomas Yownie, whom no parents acknowledged, who sleptusually in a coal cellar, and who had picked up his education amongGorbals closes and along the wharves of Clyde. 

"It's gettin' dark, " he said, "and the enemy are that busy tryin' tobreak into the Hoose that they'll no' be thinkin' o' their rear. Thefive o' us Die-Hards is grand at dodgin' and keepin' out of sight, andwhat hinders us to get in among them, so that they'll hear us but neversee us. We're used to the ways o' the polis, and can imitate themfine. Forbye we've all got our whistles, which are the same as abobbie's birl, and Old Bill and Peter are grand at copyin' a man'svoice. Since the Captain is shut up in the Hoose, the command falls tome, and that's my plan. "

With a piece of chalk he drew on the kitchen floor a rough sketch ofthe environs of Huntingtower. Peter Paterson was to move from theshrubberies beyond the verandah, Napoleon from the stables, Old Billfrom the Tower, while Wee Jaikie and Thomas himself were to advance asif from the Garplefoot, so that the enemy might fear for hiscommunications. "As soon as one o' ye gets into position he's to giethe patrol cry, and when each o' ye has heard five cries, he's toadvance. Begin birlin' and roarin' afore ye get among them, and keepit up till ye're at the Hoose wall. If they've gotten inside, in ye goafter them. I trust each Die-Hard to use his judgment, and above allto keep out o' sight and no' let himsel' be grippit. "

The plan, like all great tactics, was simple, and no sooner was itexpounded than it was put into action. The Die-Hards faded out of thekitchen like fog-wreaths, and Dickson and Mrs. Morran were left lookingat each other. They did not look long. The bare feet of Wee Jaikiehad not crossed the threshold fifty seconds, before they were followedby Mrs. Morran's out-of-doors boots and Dickson's tackets. Arm in armthe two hobbled down the back path behind the village which led to theSouth Lodge. The gate was unlocked, for the warder was busy elsewhere, and they hastened up the avenue. Far off Dickson thought he saw shapesfleeting across the park, which he took to be the shock-troops of hisown side, and he seemed to hear snatches of song. Jaikie was givingtongue, and this was what he sang:

 "Proley Tarians, arise! Wave the Red Flag to the skies, Heed no more the Fat Man's lees, Stap them doun his throat! Nocht to lose except our chains----"

But he tripped over a rabbit wire and thereafter conserved his breath. 

The wind was so loud that no sound reached them from the House, which, blank and immense, now loomed before them. Dickson's ears were alertfor the noise of shots or the dull crash of bombs; hearing nothing, hefeared the worst, and hurried Mrs. Morran at a pace which endangeredher life. He had no fear for himself, arguing that his foes wereseeking higher game, and judging, too, that the main battle must beround the verandah at the other end. The two passed the shrubberywhere the road forked, one path running to the back door and one to thestables. They took the latter and presently came out on the downs, with the ravine of the Garple on their left, the stables in front, andon the right the hollow of a formal garden running along the west sideof the House. 

The gale was so fierce, now that they had no wind-break between themand the ocean, that Mrs. Morran could wrestle with it no longer, andfound shelter in the lee of a clump of rhododendrons. Darkness had allbut fallen, and the House was a black shadow against the dusky sky, while a confused greyness marked the sea. The old Tower showed a toothof masonry; there was no glow from it, so the fire, which Jaikie hadreported, must have died down. A whaup cried loudly, and very eerily:then another. 

The birds stirred up Mrs. Morran. "That's the laddies' patrol. " shegasped. "Count the cries, Dickson. "

Another bird wailed, this time very near. Then there was perhaps threeminutes' silence till a fainter wheeple came from the direction of theTower. "Four, " said Dickson, but he waited in vain on the fifth. Hehad not the acute hearing of the boys, and could not catch the faintecho of Peter Paterson's signal beyond the verandah. The next he heardwas a shrill whistle cutting into the wind, and then others in rapidsuccession from different quarters, and something which might have beenthe hoarse shouting of angry men. 

The Gorbals Die-Hards had gone into action. 

Dull prose is no medium to tell of that wild adventure. The sobersequence of the military historian is out of place in recording deedsthat knew not sequence or sobriety. Were I a bard, I would cast thistale in excited verse, with a lilt which would catch the speed of thereality. I would sing of Napoleon, not unworthy of his great namesake, who penetrated to the very window of the ladies' bedroom, where theframework had been driven in and men were pouring through; of how therehe made such pandemonium with his whistle that men tumbled back and ranabout blindly seeking for guidance; of how in the long run hispugnacity mastered him, so that he engaged in combat with an unknownfigure and the two rolled into what had once been a fountain. I wouldhymn Peter Paterson, who across tracts of darkness engaged Old Bill ina conversation which would have done no discredit to a Gallowgatepoliceman. He pretended to be making reports and seeking orders. "We've gotten three o' the deevils, sir. What'll we dae wi' them?" heshouted; and back would come the reply in a slightly more genteelvoice: "Fall them to the rear. Tamson has charge of the prisoners. "Or it would be: "They've gotten pistols, sir. What's the orders?" andthe answer would be: "Stick to your batons. The guns are posted on theknowe, so we needn't hurry. " And over all the din there would be aperpetual whistling and a yelling of "Hands up!"

I would sing, too, of Wee Jaikie, who was having the red-letter hour ofhis life. His fragile form moved like a lizard in places where nomortal could be expected, and he varied his duties with impish assaultsupon the persons of such as came in his way. His whistle blew in aman's ear one second and the next yards away. Sometimes he was moved tosong, and unearthly fragments of "Class-conscious we are" or "ProleyTarians, arise!" mingled with the din, like the cry of seagulls in astorm. He saw a bright light flare up within the House which warnedhim not to enter, but he got as far as the garden-room, in whose darkcorners he made havoc. Indeed he was almost too successful, for hecreated panic where he went, and one or two fired blindly at thequarter where he had last been heard. These shots were followed byfrenzied prohibitions from Spidel and were not repeated. Presently hefelt that aimless surge of men that is the prelude to flight, and heardDobson's great voice roaring in the hall. Convinced that the crisis hadcome, he made his way outside, prepared to harrass the rear of anyretirement. Tears now flowed down his face, and he could not havespoken for sobs, but he had never been so happy. 

But chiefly would I celebrate Thomas Yownie, for it was he who broughtfear into the heart of Dobson. He had a voice of singular compass, andfrom the verandah he made it echo round the House. The efforts of OldBill and Peter Paterson had been skilful indeed, but those of ThomasYownie were deadly. To some leader beyond he shouted news: "Robison'sjust about finished wi' his lot, and then he'll get the boats. " Afurious charge upset him, and for a moment he thought he had beendiscovered. But it was only Dobson rushing to Leon, who was leadingthe men in the doorway. Thomas fled to the far end of the verandah, and again lifted up his voice. "All foreigners, " he shouted, "exceptthe man Dobson. Ay. Ay. Ye've got Loudon? Well done!"

It must have been this last performance which broke Dobson's nerve andconvinced him that the one hope lay in a rapid retreat to theGarplefoot. There was a tumbling of men in the doorway, a muttering ofstrange tongues, and the vision of the innkeeper shouting to Leon andSpidel. For a second he was seen in the faint reflection that thelight in the hall cast as far as the verandah, a wild figure urging theretreat with a pistol clapped to the head of those who were tooconfused by the hurricane of events to grasp the situation. Some ofthem dropped over the wall, but most huddled like sheep through thedoor on the west side, a jumble of struggling, blasphemous mortality. Thomas Yownie, staggered at the success of his tactics, yet kept hishead and did his utmost to confuse the retreat, and the triumphantshouts and whistles of the other Die-Hards showed that they were notunmindful of this final duty.... 

The verandah was empty, and he was just about to enter the House, whenthrough the west door came a figure, breathing hard and bent apparentlyon the same errand. Thomas prepared for battle, determined that nostraggler of the enemy should now wrest from him victory, but, as thefigure came into the faint glow at the doorway, he recognized it asHeritage. And at the same moment he heard something which made histense nerves relax. Away on the right came sounds, a thud of gallopinghorses on grass and the jingle of bridle reins and the voices of men. It was the real thing at last. It is a sad commentary on his career, but now for the first time in his brief existence Thomas Yownie feltcharitably disposed towards the police. 

The Poet, since we left him blaspheming on the roof of the Tower, hadbeen having a crowded hour of most inglorious life. He had started todescend at a furious pace, and his first misadventure was that hestumbled and dropped Dickson's pistol over the parapet. He tried tomark where it might have fallen in the gloom below, and this lost himprecious minutes. When he slithered through the trap into the atticroom, where he had tried to hold up the attack, he discovered that itwas full of smoke which sought in vain to escape by the narrow window. Volumes of it were pouring up the stairs, and when he attempted todescend he found himself choked and blinded. He rushed gasping to thewindow, filled his lungs with fresh air, and tried again, but he got nofarther than the first turn, from which he could see through the cloudred tongues of flame in the ground room. This was solemn indeed, so hesought another way out. He got on the roof, for he remembered achimney-stack, cloaked with ivy, which was built straight from theground, and he thought he might climb down it. 

He found the chimney and began the descent confidently, for he had onceborne a good reputation at the Montanvert and Cortina. At first allwent well, for stones stuck out at decent intervals like the rungs of aladder, and roots of ivy supplemented their deficiencies. But presentlyhe came to a place where the masonry had crumbled into a cave, and lefta gap some twenty feet high. Below it he could dimly see a thick massof ivy which would enable him to cover the further forty feet to theground, but at that cave he stuck most finally. All around the lime andstone had lapsed into debris, and he could find no safe foothold. Worse still, the block on which he relied proved loose, and only by adangerous traverse did he avert disaster. 

There he hung for a minute or two, with a cold void in his stomach. Hehad always distrusted the handiwork of man as a place to scramble on, and now he was planted in the dark on a decomposing wall, with anexcellent chance of breaking his neck, and with the most urgent needfor haste. He could see the windows of the House, and, since he wassheltered from the gale, he could hear the faint sound of blows onwoodwork. There was clearly the devil to pay there, and yet here hewas helplessly stuck.... Setting his teeth, he started to ascend again. Better the fire than this cold breakneck emptiness. 

It took him the better part of half an hour to get back, and he passedthrough many moments of acute fear. Footholds which had seemed secureenough in the descent now proved impossible, and more than once he hadhis heart in his mouth when a rotten ivy stump or a wedge of stone gavein his hands, and dropped dully into the pit of night, leaving himcrazily spread-eagled. When at last he reached the top he rolled onhis back and felt very sick. Then, as he realized his safety, hisimpatience revived. At all costs he would force his way out though heshould be grilled like a herring. 

The smoke was less thick in the attic, and with his handkerchief wetwith the rain and bound across his mouth he made a dash for the groundroom. It was as hot as a furnace, for everything inflammable in itseemed to have caught fire, and the lumber glowed in piles of hotashes. But the floor and walls were stone, and only the blazing jambsof the door stood between him and the outer air. He had burned himselfconsiderably as he stumbled downwards, and the pain drove him to a wildleap through the broken arch, where he miscalculated the distance, charred his shins, and brought down a red-hot fragment of the lintel onhis head. But the thing was done, and a minute later he was rollinglike a dog in the wet bracken to cool his burns and put out varioussmouldering patches on his raiment. 

Then he started running for the House, but, confused by the darkness, he bore too much to the north, and came out in the side avenue fromwhich he and Dickson had reconnoitred on the first evening. He saw onthe right a glow in the verandah, which, as we know, was the reflectionof the flare in the hall, and he heard a babble of voices. But heheard something more, for away on his left was the sound which ThomasYownie was soon to hear--the trampling of horses. It was the police atlast, and his task was to guide them at once to the critical point ofaction.... Three minutes later a figure like a scarecrow wasadmonishing a bewildered sergeant, while his hands plucked feverishlyat a horse's bridle. 

It is time to return to Dickson in his clump of rhododendrons. Tragically aware of his impotence he listened to the tumult of theDie-Hards, hopeful when it was loud, despairing when there came amoment's lull, while Mrs. Morran like a Greek chorus drew loudly uponher store of proverbial philosophy and her memory of Scripture texts. Twice he tried to reconnoitre towards the scene of battle, but onlyblundered into sunken plots and pits in the Dutch garden. Finally hesquatted beside Mrs. Morran, lit his pipe, and took a firm hold on hispatience. 

It was not tested for long. Presently he was aware that a change hadcome over the scene--that the Die-Hards' whistles and shouts were beingdrowned in another sound, the cries of panicky men. Dobson's bellow waswafted to him. "Auntie Phemie, " he shouted, "the innkeeper's gettingrattled. Dod, I believe they're running. " For at that moment twentypaces on his left the van of the retreat crashed through the creeperson the garden's edge and leaped the wall that separated it from thecliffs of the Garplefoot. 

The old woman was on her feet. 

"God be thankit, is't the polis?"

"Maybe. Maybe no'. But they're running. "

Another bunch of men raced past, and he heard Dobson's voice. 

"I tell you, they're broke. Listen, it's horses. Ay, it's the police, but it was the Die-Hards that did the job.... Here! They mustn'tescape. Have the police had the sense to send men to the Garplefoot?"

Mrs. Morran, a figure like an ancient prophetess, with her tartan shawllashing in the gale, clutched him by the shoulder. 

"Doun to the waterside and stop them. Ye'll no' be beat by weeladdies! On wi' ye and I'll follow! There's gaun to be a juidgment onevil-doers this night. "

Dickson needed no urging. His heart was hot within him, and theweariness and stiffness had gone from his limbs. He, too, tumbled overthe wall, and made for what he thought was the route by which he hadoriginally ascended from the stream. As he ran he made ridiculousefforts to cry like a whaup in the hope of summoning the Die-Hards. One, indeed, he found--Napoleon, who had suffered a grievous poundingin the fountain, and had only escaped by an eel-like agility which hadaforetime served him in good stead with the law of his native city. Lucky for Dickson was the meeting, for he had forgotten the road andwould certainly have broken his neck. Led by the Die-Hard he slid fortyfeet over screes and boiler-plates, with the gale plucking at him, found a path, lost it, and then tumbled down a raw bank of earth to theflat ground beside the harbour. During all this performance, he hastold me, he had no thought of fear, nor any clear notion what he meantto do. He just wanted to be in at the finish of the job. 

Through the narrow entrance the gale blew as through a funnel, and theusually placid waters of the harbour were a froth of angry waves. Twoboats had been launched and were plunging furiously, and on one of thema lantern dipped and fell. By its light he could see men holding afurther boat by the shore. There was no sign of the police; hereflected that probably they had become entangled in the Garple Dean. The third boat was waiting for some one. 

Dickson--a new Ajax by the ships--divined who this someone must be andrealized his duty. It was the leader, the arch-enemy, the man whoseescape must at all costs be stopped. Perhaps he had the Princess withhim, thus snatching victory from apparent defeat. In any case he mustbe tackled, and a fierce anxiety gripped his heart. "Aye finish ajob, " he told himself, and peered up into the darkness of the cliffs, wondering just how he should set about it, for except in the last fewdays he had never engaged in combat with a fellow-creature. 

"When he comes, you grip his legs, " he told Napoleon, "and get himdown. He'll have a pistol, and we're done if he's on his feet. "

There was a cry from the boats, a shout of guidance, and the light onthe water was waved madly. "They must have good eyesight, " thoughtDickson, for he could see nothing. And then suddenly he was aware ofsteps in front of him, and a shape like a man rising out of the void athis left hand. 

In the darkness Napoleon missed his tackle, and the full shock came onDickson. He aimed at what he thought was the enemy's throat, foundonly an arm, and was shaken off as a mastiff might shake off a toyterrier. He made another clutch, fell, and in falling caught hisopponent's leg so that he brought him down. The man was immenselyagile, for he was up in a second and something hot and bright blew intoDickson's face. The pistol bullet had passed through the collar of hisfaithful waterproof, slightly singeing his neck. But it served itspurpose, for Dickson paused, gasping, to consider where he had beenhit, and before he could resume the chase the last boat had pushed offinto deep water. 

To be shot at from close quarters is always irritating, and the noveltyof the experience increased Dickson's natural wrath. He fumed on theshore like a deerhound when the stag has taken to the sea. So hot washis blood that he would have cheerfully assaulted the whole crew hadthey been within his reach. Napoleon, who had been incapacitated forspeed by having his stomach and bare shanks savagely trampled upon, joined him, and together they watched the bobbing black specks as theycrawled out of the estuary into the grey spindrift which marked theharbour mouth. 

But as he looked the wrath died out of Dickson's soul. For he saw thatthe boats had indeed sailed on a desperate venture, and that a pursuerwas on their track more potent than his breathless middle-age. The tidewas on the ebb, and the gale was driving the Atlantic breakersshoreward, and in the jaws of the entrance the two waters met in anunearthly turmoil. Above the noise of the wind came the roar of theflooded Garple and the fret of the harbour, and far beyond all thecrashing thunder of the conflict at the harbour mouth. Even in thedarkness, against the still faintly grey western sky, the spume couldbe seen rising like waterspouts. But it was the ear rather than theeye which made certain presage of disaster. No boat could face thechallenge of that loud portal. 

As Dickson struggled against the wind and stared, his heart melted anda great awe fell upon him. He may have wept; it is certain that heprayed. "Poor souls, poor souls!" he repeated. "I doubt the last hourhas been a poor preparation for eternity. "

The tide the next day brought the dead ashore. Among them was a youngman, different in dress and appearance from the rest--a young man witha noble head and a finely-cut classic face, which was not marred likethe others from pounding among the Garple rocks. His dark hair waswashed back from his brow, and the mouth, which had been hard in life, was now relaxed in the strange innocence of death. 

Dickson gazed at the body and observed that there was a slightdeformation between the shoulders. 

"Poor fellow, " he said. "That explains a lot.... As my father used tosay, cripples have a right to be cankered. "

CHAPTER XVI

IN WHICH A PRINCESS LEAVES A DARK TOWER AND A PROVISION MERCHANTRETURNS TO HIS FAMILY

The three days of storm ended in the night, and with the wild weatherthere departed from the Cruives something which had weighed onDickson's spirits since he first saw the place. Monday--only a weekfrom the morning when he had conceived his plan of holiday--saw thereturn of the sun and the bland airs of spring. Beyond the blue of theyet restless waters rose dim mountains tipped with snow, like someMediterranean seascape. Nesting birds were busy on the Laver banks andin the Huntingtower thickets; the village smoked peacefully to theclear skies; even the House looked cheerful if dishevelled. The GarpleDean was a garden of swaying larches, linnets, and wild anemones. Assuredly, thought Dickson, there had come a mighty change in thecountryside, and he meditated a future discourse to the LiterarySociety of the Guthrie Memorial Kirk on "Natural Beauty in Relation tothe Mind of Man. "

It remains for the chronicler to gather up the loose ends of his tale. There was no newspaper story with bold headlines of this the mostrecent assault on the shores of Britain. Alexis Nicholaevitch, once aPrince of Muscovy and now Mr. Alexander Nicholson of the rising firm ofSprot and Nicholson of Melbourne, had interest enough to prevent it. For it was clear that if Saskia was to be saved from persecution, herenemies must disappear without trace from the world, and no story betold of the wild venture which was their undoing. The constabulary ofCarrick and Scotland Yard were indisposed to ask questions, under ahint from their superiors, the more so as no serious damage had beendone to the persons of His Majesty's lieges, and no lives had been lostexcept by the violence of Nature. The Procurator-Fiscal investigatedthe case of the drowned men, and reported that so many foreign sailors, names and origins unknown, had perished in attempting to return totheir ship at the Garplefoot. The Danish brig had vanished into themist of the northern seas. But one signal calamity theProcurator-Fiscal had to record. The body of Loudon the factor wasfound on the Monday morning below the cliffs, his neck broken by afall. In the darkness and confusion he must have tried to escape inthat direction, and he had chosen an impracticable road or had slippedon the edge. It was returned as "death by misadventure, " and theCARRICK HERALD and the AUCHENLOCHAN ADVERTISER excelled themselves ineulogy. Mr. Loudon, they said, had been widely known in the south-westof Scotland as an able and trusted lawyer, an assiduous public servant, and not least as a good sportsman. It was the last trait which had ledto his death, for, in his enthusiasm for wild nature, he had beenstudying bird life on the cliffs of the Cruives during the storm, andhad made that fatal slip which had deprived the shire of a wisecounsellor and the best of good fellows. 

The tinklers of the Garplefoot took themselves off, and where they maynow be pursuing their devious courses is unknown to the chronicler. Dobson, too, disappeared, for he was not among the dead from the boats. He knew the neighbourhood, and probably made his way to some port fromwhich he took passage to one or other of those foreign lands which hadformerly been honoured by his patronage. Nor did all the Russiansperish. Three were found skulking next morning in the woods, starvingand ignorant of any tongue but their own, and five more came ashoremuch battered but alive. Alexis took charge of the eight survivors, and arranged to pay their passage to one of the British Dominions andto give them a start in a new life. They were broken creatures, withthe dazed look of lost animals, and four of them had been peasants inSaskia's estates. Alexis spoke to them in their own language. "In mygrandfather's time, " he said, "you were serfs. Then there came achange, and for some time you were free men. Now you have slipped backinto being slaves again--the worst of slaveries, for you have been theserfs of fools and scoundrels and the black passion of your own hearts. I give you a chance of becoming free men once more. You have the taskbefore you of working out your own salvation. Go, and God be with you. "

Before we take leave of these companions of a single week I wouldpresent them to you again as they appeared on a certain sunny afternoonwhen the episode of Huntingtower was on the eve of closing. First wesee Saskia and Alexis walking on the thymy sward of the cliff-top, looking out to the fretted blue of the sea. It is a fitting place forlovers--above all for lovers who have turned the page on a darkpreface, and have before them still the long bright volume of life. The girl has her arm linked in the man's, but as they walk she breaksoften away from him, to dart into copses, to gather flowers, or to peerover the brink where the gulls wheel and oyster-catchers pipe among theshingle. She is no more the tragic muse of the past week, but alaughing child again, full of snatches of song, her eyes bright withexpectation. They talk of the new world which lies before them, and hervoice is happy. Then her brows contract, and, as she flings herselfdown on a patch of young heather, her air is thoughtful. 

"I have been back among fairy tales, " she says. "I do not quiteunderstand, Alesha. Those gallant little boys! They are youth, andyouth is always full of strangeness. Mr. Heritage! He is youth, too, and poetry, perhaps, and a soldier's tradition. I think I know him.... But what about Dickson? He is the PETIT BOURGEOIS, the EPICIER, theclass which the world ridicules. He is unbelievable. The others withgood fortune I might find elsewhere--in Russia perhaps. But notDickson. "

"No, " is the answer. "You will not find him in Russia. He is whatthey call the middle-class, which we who were foolish used to laugh at. But he is the stuff which above all others makes a great people. Hewill endure when aristocracies crack and proletariats crumble. In ourown land we have never known him, but till we create him our land willnot be a nation. "

Half a mile away on the edge of the Laver glen Dickson and Heritage aretogether, Dickson placidly smoking on a tree-stump and Heritage walkingexcitedly about and cutting with his stick at the bracken. Sundrybandages and strips of sticking plaster still adorn the Poet, but hisclothes have been tidied up by Mrs. Morran, and he has recoveredsomething of his old precision of garb. The eyes of both are fixed onthe two figures on the cliff-top. Dickson feels acutely uneasy. It isthe first time that he has been alone with Heritage since the arrivalof Alexis shivered the Poet's dream. He looks to see a tragic grief;to his amazement he beholds something very like exultation. 

"The trouble with you, Dogson, " says Heritage, "is that you're a bit ofan anarchist. All you false romantics are. You don't see theextraordinary beauty of the conventions which time has consecrated. Youalways want novelty, you know, and the novel is usually the ugly andrarely the true. I am for romance, but upon the old, noble classicline. "

Dickson is scarcely listening. His eyes are on the distant lovers, andhe longs to say something which will gently and graciously express hissympathy with his friend. 

"I'm afraid, " he begins hesitatingly, "I'm afraid you've had a badblow, Mr. Heritage. You're taking it awful well, and I honour you forit. "

The Poet flings back his head. "I am reconciled, " he says. "After all'tis better to have loved and lost, you know. It has been a greatexperience and has shown me my own heart. I love her, I shall alwayslove her, but I realize that she was never meant for me. Thank GodI've been able to serve her--that is all a moth can ask of a star. I'ma better man for it, Dogson. She will be a glorious memory, and Lord!what poetry I shall write! I give her up joyfully, for she has foundher mate. 'Let us not to the marriage of true minds admitimpediments!' The thing's too perfect to grieve about.... Look! Thereis romance incarnate. "

He points to the figures now silhouetted against the further sea. "Howdoes it go, Dogson?" he cries. "'And on her lover's arm sheleant'--what next? You know the thing. "

Dickson assists and Heritage declaims:

 "And on her lover's arm she leant, And round her waist she felt it fold, And far across the hills they went In that new world which is the old: Across the hills, and far away Beyond their utmost purple rim, And deep into the dying day The happy princess followed him. "

He repeats the last two lines twice and draws a deep breath. "Howright!" he cries. "How absolutely right! Lord! It's astonishing howthat old bird Tennyson got the goods!"

After that Dickson leaves him and wanders among the thickets on theedge of the Huntingtower policies above the Laver glen. He feelschildishly happy, wonderfully young, and at the same timesupernaturally wise. Sometimes he thinks the past week has been adream, till he touches the sticking-plaster on his brow, and finds thathis left thigh is still a mass of bruises and that his right leg iswoefully stiff. With that the past becomes very real again, and hesees the Garple Dean in that stormy afternoon, he wrestles again atmidnight in the dark House, he stands with quaking heart by the boatsto cut off the retreat. He sees it all, but without terror in therecollection, rather with gusto and a modest pride. "I've surely had aremarkable time, " he tells himself, and then Romance, the goddess whomhe has worshipped so long, marries that furious week with the idyllic. He is supremely content, for he knows that in his humble way he has notbeen found wanting. Once more for him the Chavender or Chub, and longdreams among summer hills. His mind flies to the days ahead of him, when he will go wandering with his pack in many green places. Happydays they will be, the prospect with which he has always charmed hismind. Yes, but they will be different from what he had fancied, for heis another man than the complacent little fellow who set out a week agoon his travels. He has now assurance of himself, assurance of hisfaith. Romance, he sees, is one and indivisible.... 

Below him by the edge of the stream he sees the encampment of theGorbals Die-Hards. He calls and waves a hand, and his signal isanswered. It seems to be washing day, for some scanty and tatteredraiment is drying on the sward. The band is evidently in session, forit is sitting in a circle, deep in talk. 

As he looks at the ancient tents, the humble equipment, the ring ofsmall shockheads, a great tenderness comes over him. The Die-Hards areso tiny, so poor, so pitifully handicapped, and yet so bold in theirmeagreness. Not one of them has had anything that might be called achance. Their few years have been spent in kennels and closes, alwayshungry and hunted, with none to care for them; their childish ears havebeen habituated to every coarseness, their small minds filled with thedesperate shifts of living.... And yet, what a heavenly spark was inthem! He had always thought nobly of the soul; now he wants to get onhis knees before the queer greatness of humanity. 

A figure disengages itself from the group, and Dougal makes his way upthe hill towards him. The Chieftain is not more reputable in garb thanwhen we first saw him, nor is he more cheerful of countenance. He hasone arm in a sling made out of his neckerchief, and his scraggy littlethroat rises bare from his voluminous shirt. All that can be said forhim is that he is appreciably cleaner. He comes to a standstill andsalutes with a special formality. 

"Dougal, " says Dickson, "I've been thinking. You're the grandest lotof wee laddies I ever heard tell of, and, forbye, you've saved my life. Now, I'm getting on in years, though you'll admit that I'm not thatdead old, and I'm not a poor man, and I haven't chick or child to lookafter. None of you has ever had a proper chance or been right fed oreducated or taken care of. I've just the one thing to say to you. From now on you're my bairns, every one of you. You're fine laddies, and I'm going to see that you turn into fine men. There's the stuff inyou to make Generals and Provosts--ay, and Prime Ministers, and Dod!it'll not be my blame if it doesn't get out. "

Dougal listens gravely and again salutes. 

"I've brought ye a message, " he says. "We've just had a meetin' andI've to report that ye've been unanimously eleckit Chief Die-Hard. We're a' hopin' ye'll accept. "

"I accept, " Dickson replies. "Proudly and gratefully I accept. "

The last scene is some days later, in a certain southern suburb ofGlasgow. Ulysses has come back to Ithaca, and is sitting by hisfireside, waiting for the return of Penelope from the Neuk Hydropathic. There is a chill in the air, so a fire is burning in the grate, but theladen tea-table is bright with the first blooms of lilac. Dickson, in anew suit with a flower in his buttonhole, looks none the worse for histravels, save that there is still sticking-plaster on his deeplysunburnt brow. He waits impatiently with his eye on the black marbletimepiece, and he fingers something in his pocket. 

Presently the sound of wheels is heard, and the pea-hen voice of Tibbyannounces the arrival of Penelope. Dickson rushes to the door, and atthe threshold welcomes his wife with a resounding kiss. He leads herinto the parlour and settles her in her own chair. 

"My! but it's nice to be home again!" she says. "And everything thatcomfortable. I've had a fine time, but there's no place like your ownfireside. You're looking awful well, Dickson. But losh! What have youbeen doing to your head?"

"Just a small tumble. It's very near mended already. Ay, I've had agrand walking tour, but the weather was a wee bit thrawn. It's nice tosee you back again, Mamma. Now that I'm an idle man you and me musttake a lot of jaunts together. "

She beams on him as she stays herself with Tibby's scones, and when themeal is ended, Dickson draws from his pocket a slim case. The jewelshave been restored to Saskia, but this is one of her own which she hasbestowed upon Dickson as a parting memento. He opens the case andreveals a necklet of emeralds, any one of which is worth half thestreet. 

"This is a present for you, " he says bashfully. 

Mrs. McCunn's eyes open wide. "You're far too kind, " she gasps. "Itmust have cost an awful lot of money. "

"It didn't cost me that much, " is the truthful answer. 

She fingers the trinket and then clasps it round her neck, where thegreen depths of the stones glow against the black satin of her bodice. Her eyes are moist as she looks at him. "You've been a kind man tome, " she says, and she kisses him as she has not done since Janet'sdeath. 

She stands up and admires the necklet in the mirror. Romance oncemore, thinks Dickson. That which has graced the slim throats ofprincesses in far-away Courts now adorns an elderly matron in asemi-detached villa; the jewels of the wild Nausicaa have fallen to thehousewife Penelope. 

Mrs. McCunn preens herself before the glass. "I call it very genteel, "she says. "Real stylish. It might be worn by a queen. "

"I wouldn't say but it has, " says Dickson.