MR STANDFAST

by

JOHN BUCHAN

 TO THAT MOST GALLANT COMPANY THE OFFICERS AND MEN OF THE SOUTH AFRICAN INFANTRY BRIGADE on the Western Front

CONTENTS

PART I

 1. The Wicket-Gate 2. 'The Village Named Morality' 3. The Reflections of a Cured Dyspeptic 4. Andrew Amos 5. Various Doings in the West 6. The Skirts of the Coolin 7. I Hear of the Wild Birds 8. The Adventures of a Bagman 9. I Take the Wings of a Dove 10. The Advantages of an Air Raid 11. The Valley of Humiliation

PART II

 12. I Become a Combatant Once More 13. The Adventure of the Picardy Chateau 14. Mr Blenkiron Discourses on Love and War 15. St Anton 16. I Lie on a Hard Bed 17. The Col of the Swallows 18. The Underground Railway 19. The Cage of the Wild Birds 20. The Storm Breaks in the West 21. How an Exile Returned to His Own People 22. The Summons Comes for Mr Standfast

NOTE

The earlier adventures of Richard Hannay, to which occasional referenceis made in this narrative, are recounted in _The Thirty-Nine Steps_ and_Greenmantle_. 

J. B. 

PART I

CHAPTER ONE

The Wicket-Gate

I spent one-third of my journey looking out of the window of afirst-class carriage, the next in a local motor-car following thecourse of a trout stream in a shallow valley, and the last trampingover a ridge of downland through great beech-woods to my quarters forthe night. In the first part I was in an infamous temper; in the secondI was worried and mystified; but the cool twilight of the third stagecalmed and heartened me, and I reached the gates of Fosse Manor with amighty appetite and a quiet mind. 

As we slipped up the Thames valley on the smooth Great Western line Ihad reflected ruefully on the thorns in the path of duty. For more thana year I had never been out of khaki, except the months I spent inhospital. They gave me my battalion before the Somme, and I came out ofthat weary battle after the first big September fighting with a crackin my head and a D. S. O. I had received a C. B. For the Erzerum business, so what with these and my Matabele and South African medals and theLegion of Honour, I had a chest like the High Priest's breastplate. Irejoined in January, and got a brigade on the eve of Arras. There wehad a star turn, and took about as many prisoners as we put infantryover the top. After that we were hauled out for a month, andsubsequently planted in a bad bit on the Scarpe with a hint that wewould soon be used for a big push. Then suddenly I was ordered home toreport to the War Office, and passed on by them to Bullivant and hismerry men. So here I was sitting in a railway carriage in a grey tweedsuit, with a neat new suitcase on the rack labelled C. B. The initialsstood for Cornelius Brand, for that was my name now. And an old boy inthe corner was asking me questions and wondering audibly why I wasn'tfighting, while a young blood of a second lieutenant with a woundstripe was eyeing me with scorn. 

The old chap was one of the cross-examining type, and after he hadborrowed my matches he set to work to find out all about me. He was atremendous fire-eater, and a bit of a pessimist about our slow progressin the west. I told him I came from South Africa and was a miningengineer. 

'Been fighting with Botha?' he asked. 

'No, ' I said. 'I'm not the fighting kind. '

The second lieutenant screwed up his nose. 

'Is there no conscription in South Africa?'

'Thank God there isn't, ' I said, and the old fellow begged permissionto tell me a lot of unpalatable things. I knew his kind and didn't givemuch for it. He was the sort who, if he had been under fifty, wouldhave crawled on his belly to his tribunal to get exempted, but beingover age was able to pose as a patriot. But I didn't like the secondlieutenant's grin, for he seemed a good class of lad. I looked steadilyout of the window for the rest of the way, and wasn't sorry when I gotto my station. 

I had had the queerest interview with Bullivant and Macgillivray. Theyasked me first if I was willing to serve again in the old game, and Isaid I was. I felt as bitter as sin, for I had got fixed in themilitary groove, and had made good there. Here was I--a brigadier andstill under forty, and with another year of the war there was no sayingwhere I might end. I had started out without any ambition, only a greatwish to see the business finished. But now I had acquired aprofessional interest in the thing, I had a nailing good brigade, and Ihad got the hang of our new kind of war as well as any fellow fromSandhurst and Camberley. They were asking me to scrap all I had learnedand start again in a new job. I had to agree, for discipline'sdiscipline, but I could have knocked their heads together in myvexation. 

What was worse they wouldn't, or couldn't, tell me anything about whatthey wanted me for. It was the old game of running me in blinkers. Theyasked me to take it on trust and put myself unreservedly in theirhands. I would get my instructions later, they said. 

I asked if it was important. 

Bullivant narrowed his eyes. 'If it weren't, do you suppose we couldhave wrung an active brigadier out of the War Office? As it was, it waslike drawing teeth. '

'Is it risky?' was my next question. 

'In the long run--damnably, ' was the answer. 

'And you can't tell me anything more?'

'Nothing as yet. You'll get your instructions soon enough. You knowboth of us, Hannay, and you know we wouldn't waste the time of a goodman on folly. We are going to ask you for something which will make abig call on your patriotism. It will be a difficult and arduous task, and it may be a very grim one before you get to the end of it, but webelieve you can do it, and that no one else can ... You know us prettywell. Will you let us judge for you?'

I looked at Bullivant's shrewd, kind old face and Macgillivray's steadyeyes. These men were my friends and wouldn't play with Me. 

'All right, ' I said. 'I'm willing. What's the first step?'

'Get out of uniform and forget you ever were a soldier. Change yourname. Your old one, Cornelis Brandt, will do, but you'd better spell it"Brand" this time. Remember that you are an engineer just back fromSouth Africa, and that you don't care a rush about the war. You can'tunderstand what all the fools are fighting about, and you think wemight have peace at once by a little friendly business talk. Youneedn't be pro-German--if you like you can be rather severe on the Hun. But you must be in deadly earnest about a speedy peace. '

I expect the corners of my mouth fell, for Bullivant burst out laughing. 

'Hang it all, man, it's not so difficult. I feel sometimes inclined toargue that way myself, when my dinner doesn't agree with me. It's notso hard as to wander round the Fatherland abusing Britain, which wasyour last job. '

'I'm ready, ' I said. 'But I want to do one errand on my own first. Imust see a fellow in my brigade who is in a shell-shock hospital in theCotswolds. Isham's the name of the place. '

The two men exchanged glances. 'This looks like fate, ' said Bullivant. 'By all means go to Isham. The place where your work begins is only acouple of miles off. I want you to spend next Thursday night as theguest of two maiden ladies called Wymondham at Fosse Manor. You will godown there as a lone South African visiting a sick friend. They arehospitable souls and entertain many angels unawares. '

'And I get my orders there?'

'You get your orders, and you are under bond to obey them. ' AndBullivant and Macgillivray smiled at each other. 

I was thinking hard about that odd conversation as the small Ford car, which I had wired for to the inn, carried me away from the suburbs ofthe county town into a land of rolling hills and green water-meadows. It was a gorgeous afternoon and the blossom of early June was on everytree. But I had no eyes for landscape and the summer, being engaged inreprobating Bullivant and cursing my fantastic fate. I detested my newpart and looked forward to naked shame. It was bad enough for anyone tohave to pose as a pacifist, but for me, strong as a bull and assunburnt as a gipsy and not looking my forty years, it was a blackdisgrace. To go into Germany as an anti-British Afrikander was astoutish adventure, but to lounge about at home talking rot was a verydifferent-sized job. My stomach rose at the thought of it, and I hadpretty well decided to wire to Bullivant and cry off. There are somethings that no one has a right to ask of any white man. 

When I got to Isham and found poor old Blaikie I didn't feel happier. He had been a friend of mine in Rhodesia, and after the GermanSouth-West affair was over had come home to a Fusilier battalion, whichwas in my brigade at Arras. He had been buried by a big crump justbefore we got our second objective, and was dug out without a scratchon him, but as daft as a hatter. I had heard he was mending, and hadpromised his family to look him up the first chance I got. I found himsitting on a garden seat, staring steadily before him like a lookout atsea. He knew me all right and cheered up for a second, but very soon hewas back at his staring, and every word he uttered was like the carefulspeech of a drunken man. A bird flew out of a bush, and I could see himholding himself tight to keep from screaming. The best I could do wasto put a hand on his shoulder and stroke him as one strokes afrightened horse. The sight of the price my old friend had paid didn'tput me in love with pacificism. 

We talked of brother officers and South Africa, for I wanted to keephis thoughts off the war, but he kept edging round to it. 

'How long will the damned thing last?' he asked. 

'Oh, it's practically over, ' I lied cheerfully. 'No more fighting foryou and precious little for me. The Boche is done in all right ... Whatyou've got to do, my lad, is to sleep fourteen hours in the twenty-fourand spend half the rest catching trout. We'll have a shot at thegrouse-bird together this autumn and we'll get some of the old gang tojoin us. '

Someone put a tea-tray on the table beside us, and I looked up to seethe very prettiest girl I ever set eyes on. She seemed little more thana child, and before the war would probably have still ranked as aflapper. She wore the neat blue dress and apron of a V. A. D. And herwhite cap was set on hair like spun gold. She smiled demurely as shearranged the tea-things, and I thought I had never seen eyes at once somerry and so grave. I stared after her as she walked across the lawn, and I remember noticing that she moved with the free grace of anathletic boy. 

'Who on earth's that?' I asked Blaikie. 

'That? Oh, one of the sisters, ' he said listlessly. 'There are squadsof them. I can't tell one from another. '

Nothing gave me such an impression of my friend's sickness as the factthat he should have no interest in something so fresh and jolly as thatgirl. Presently my time was up and I had to go, and as I looked back Isaw him sunk in his chair again, his eyes fixed on vacancy, and hishands gripping his knees. 

The thought of him depressed me horribly. Here was I condemned to somerotten buffoonery in inglorious safety, while the salt of the earthlike Blaikie was paying the ghastliest price. From him my thoughts flewto old Peter Pienaar, and I sat down on a roadside wall and read hislast letter. It nearly made me howl. Peter, you must know, had shavedhis beard and joined the Royal Flying Corps the summer before when wegot back from the Greenmantle affair. That was the only kind of rewardhe wanted, and, though he was absurdly over age, the authoritiesallowed it. They were wise not to stickle about rules, for Peter'seyesight and nerve were as good as those of any boy of twenty. I knewhe would do well, but I was not prepared for his immediately blazingsuccess. He got his pilot's certificate in record time and went out toFrance; and presently even we foot-sloggers, busy shifting groundbefore the Somme, began to hear rumours of his doings. He developed aperfect genius for air-fighting. There were plenty better trick-flyers, and plenty who knew more about the science of the game, but there wasno one with quite Peter's genius for an actual scrap. He was as full ofdodges a couple of miles up in the sky as he had been among the rocksof the Berg. He apparently knew how to hide in the empty air ascleverly as in the long grass of the Lebombo Flats. Amazing yarns beganto circulate among the infantry about this new airman, who could takecover below one plane of an enemy squadron while all the rest werelooking for him. I remember talking about him with the South Africanswhen we were out resting next door to them after the bloody DelvilleWood business. The day before we had seen a good battle in the cloudswhen the Boche plane had crashed, and a Transvaal machine-gun officerbrought the report that the British airman had been Pienaar. 'Welldone, the old _takhaar_!' he cried, and started to yarn about Peter'smethods. It appeared that Peter had a theory that every man has a blindspot, and that he knew just how to find that blind spot in the world ofair. The best cover, he maintained, was not in cloud or a wisp of fog, but in the unseeing patch in the eye of your enemy. I recognized thattalk for the real thing. It was on a par with Peter's doctrine of'atmosphere' and 'the double bluff' and all the other principles thathis queer old mind had cogitated out of his rackety life. 

By the end of August that year Peter's was about the best-known figurein the Flying Corps. If the reports had mentioned names he would havebeen a national hero, but he was only 'Lieutenant Blank', and thenewspapers, which expatiated on his deeds, had to praise the Serviceand not the man. That was right enough, for half the magic of ourFlying Corps was its freedom from advertisement. But the British Armyknew all about him, and the men in the trenches used to discuss him asif he were a crack football-player. There was a very big German airmancalled Lensch, one of the Albatross heroes, who about the end of Augustclaimed to have destroyed thirty-two Allied machines. Peter had thenonly seventeen planes to his credit, but he was rapidly increasing hisscore. Lensch was a mighty man of valour and a good sportsman after hisfashion. He was amazingly quick at manoeuvring his machine in theactual fight, but Peter was supposed to be better at forcing the kindof fight he wanted. Lensch, if you like, was the tactician and Peterthe strategist. Anyhow the two were out to get each other. There wereplenty of fellows who saw the campaign as a struggle not between Hunand Briton, but between Lensch and Pienaar. 

The 15th September came, and I got knocked out and went to hospital. When I was fit to read the papers again and receive letters, I found tomy consternation that Peter had been downed. It happened at the end ofOctober when the southwest gales badly handicapped our airwork. Whenour bombing or reconnaissance jobs behind the enemy lines werecompleted, instead of being able to glide back into safety, we had tofight our way home slowly against a head-wind exposed to Archies andHun planes. Somewhere east of Bapaume on a return journey Peter fell inwith Lensch--at least the German Press gave Lensch the credit. Hispetrol tank was shot to bits and he was forced to descend in a woodnear Morchies. 'The celebrated British airman, Pinner, ' in the words ofthe German communique, was made prisoner. 

I had no letter from him till the beginning of the New Year, when I waspreparing to return to France. It was a very contented letter. Heseemed to have been fairly well treated, though he had always a lowstandard of what he expected from the world in the way of comfort. Iinferred that his captors had not identified in the brilliant airmanthe Dutch miscreant who a year before had broken out of a German jail. He had discovered the pleasures of reading and had perfected himself inan art which he had once practised indifferently. Somehow or other hehad got a _Pilgrim's Progress_, from which he seemed to extractenormous pleasure. And then at the end, quite casually, he mentionedthat he had been badly wounded and that his left leg would never bemuch use again. 

After that I got frequent letters, and I wrote to him every week andsent him every kind of parcel I could think of. His letters used tomake me both ashamed and happy. I had always banked on old Peter, andhere he was behaving like an early Christian martyr--never a word ofcomplaint, and just as cheery as if it were a winter morning on thehigh veld and we were off to ride down springbok. I knew what the lossof a leg must mean to him, for bodily fitness had always been hispride. The rest of life must have unrolled itself before him very draband dusty to the grave. But he wrote as if he were on the top of hisform and kept commiserating me on the discomforts of my job. Thepicture of that patient, gentle old fellow, hobbling about his compoundand puzzling over his _Pilgrim's Progress_, a cripple for life afterfive months of blazing glory, would have stiffened the back of ajellyfish. 

This last letter was horribly touching, for summer had come and thesmell of the woods behind his prison reminded Peter of a place in theWoodbush, and one could read in every sentence the ache of exile. I saton that stone wall and considered how trifling were the crumpled leavesin my bed of life compared with the thorns Peter and Blaikie had to lieon. I thought of Sandy far off in Mesopotamia, and old Blenkirongroaning with dyspepsia somewhere in America, and I considered thatthey were the kind of fellows who did their jobs without complaining. The result was that when I got up to go on I had recovered a manliertemper. I wasn't going to shame my friends or pick and choose my duty. I would trust myself to Providence, for, as Blenkiron used to say, Providence was all right if you gave him a chance. 

It was not only Peter's letter that steadied and calmed me. Isham stoodhigh up in a fold of the hills away from the main valley, and the roadI was taking brought me over the ridge and back to the stream-side. Iclimbed through great beechwoods, which seemed in the twilight likesome green place far below the sea, and then over a short stretch ofhill pasture to the rim of the vale. All about me were little fieldsenclosed with walls of grey stone and full of dim sheep. Below weredusky woods around what I took to be Fosse Manor, for the great RomanFosse Way, straight as an arrow, passed over the hills to the south andskirted its grounds. I could see the stream slipping among itswater-meadows and could hear the plash of the weir. A tiny villagesettled in a crook of the hill, and its church-tower sounded seven witha curiously sweet chime. Otherwise there was no noise but the twitterof small birds and the night wind in the tops of the beeches. 

In that moment I had a kind of revelation. I had a vision of what I hadbeen fighting for, what we all were fighting for. It was peace, deepand holy and ancient, peace older than the oldest wars, peace whichwould endure when all our swords were hammered into ploughshares. Itwas more; for in that hour England first took hold of me. Before mycountry had been South Africa, and when I thought of home it had beenthe wide sun-steeped spaces of the veld or some scented glen of theBerg. But now I realized that I had a new home. I understood what aprecious thing this little England was, how old and kindly andcomforting, how wholly worth striving for. The freedom of an acre ofher soil was cheaply bought by the blood of the best of us. I knew whatit meant to be a poet, though for the life of me I could not have madea line of verse. For in that hour I had a prospect as if from a hilltopwhich made all the present troubles of the road seem of no account. Isaw not only victory after war, but a new and happier world aftervictory, when I should inherit something of this English peace and wrapmyself in it till the end of my days. 

Very humbly and quietly, like a man walking through a cathedral, I wentdown the hill to the Manor lodge, and came to a door in an oldred-brick facade, smothered in magnolias which smelt like hot lemons inthe June dusk. The car from the inn had brought on my baggage, andpresently I was dressing in a room which looked out on a water-garden. For the first time for more than a year I put on a starched shirt and adinner-jacket, and as I dressed I could have sung from purelightheartedness. I was in for some arduous job, and sometime thatevening in that place I should get my marching orders. Someone wouldarrive--perhaps Bullivant--and read me the riddle. But whatever it was, I was ready for it, for my whole being had found a new purpose. Livingin the trenches, you are apt to get your horizon narrowed down to thefront line of enemy barbed wire on one side and the nearest restbillets on the other. But now I seemed to see beyond the fog to a happycountry. 

High-pitched voices greeted my ears as I came down the broad staircase, voices which scarcely accorded with the panelled walls and the austerefamily portraits; and when I found my hostesses in the hall I thoughttheir looks still less in keeping with the house. Both ladies were onthe wrong side of forty, but their dress was that of young girls. MissDoria Wymondham was tall and thin with a mass of nondescript pale hairconfined by a black velvet fillet. Miss Claire Wymondham was shorterand plumper and had done her best by ill-applied cosmetics to makeherself look like a foreign _demi-mondaine_. They greeted me with thefriendly casualness which I had long ago discovered was the rightEnglish manner towards your guests; as if they had just strolled in andbilleted themselves, and you were quite glad to see them but mustn't beasked to trouble yourself further. The next second they were cooinglike pigeons round a picture which a young man was holding up in thelamplight. 

He was a tallish, lean fellow of round about thirty years, wearing greyflannels and shoes dusty from the country roads. His thin face wassallow as if from living indoors, and he had rather more hair on hishead than most of us. In the glow of the lamp his features were veryclear, and I examined them with interest, for, remember, I wasexpecting a stranger to give me orders. He had a long, rather strongchin and an obstinate mouth with peevish lines about its corners. Butthe remarkable feature was his eyes. I can best describe them by sayingthat they looked hot--not fierce or angry, but so restless that theyseemed to ache physically and to want sponging with cold water. 

They finished their talk about the picture--which was couched in ajargon of which I did not understand one word--and Miss Doria turned tome and the young man. 

'My cousin Launcelot Wake--Mr Brand. '

We nodded stiffly and Mr Wake's hand went up to smooth his hair in aself-conscious gesture. 

'Has Barnard announced dinner? By the way, where is Mary?'

'She came in five minutes ago and I sent her to change, ' said MissClaire. 'I won't have her spoiling the evening with that horriduniform. She may masquerade as she likes out-of-doors, but this houseis for civilized people. '

The butler appeared and mumbled something. 'Come along, ' cried MissDoria, 'for I'm sure you are starving, Mr Brand. And Launcelot hasbicycled ten miles. '

The dining-room was very unlike the hall. The panelling had beenstripped off, and the walls and ceiling were covered with a dead-blacksatiny paper on which hung the most monstrous pictures in largedull-gold frames. I could only see them dimly, but they seemed to be amere riot of ugly colour. The young man nodded towards them. 'I see youhave got the Degousses hung at last, ' he said. 

'How exquisite they are!' cried Miss Claire. 'How subtle and candid andbrave! Doria and I warm our souls at their flame. '

Some aromatic wood had been burned in the room, and there was a queersickly scent about. Everything in that place was strained and uneasyand abnormal--the candle shades on the table, the mass of faked chinafruit in the centre dish, the gaudy hangings and the nightmarish walls. But the food was magnificent. It was the best dinner I had eaten since1914. 

'Tell me, Mr Brand, ' said Miss Doria, her long white face propped on amuch-beringed hand. 'You are one of us? You are in revolt against thiscrazy war?'

'Why, yes, ' I said, remembering my part. 'I think a little common-sensewould settle it right away. '

'With a little common-sense it would never have started, ' said Mr Wake. 

'Launcelot's a C. O. , you know, ' said Miss Doria. 

I did not know, for he did not look any kind of soldier ... I was justabout to ask him what he commanded, when I remembered that the lettersstood also for 'Conscientious Objector, ' and stopped in time. 

At that moment someone slipped into the vacant seat on my right hand. Iturned and saw the V. A. D. Girl who had brought tea to Blaikie thatafternoon at the hospital. 

'He was exempted by his Department, ' the lady went on, 'for he's aCivil Servant, and so he never had a chance of testifying in court, butno one has done better work for our cause. He is on the committee ofthe L. D. A. , and questions have been asked about him in Parliament. '

The man was not quite comfortable at this biography. He glancednervously at me and was going to begin some kind of explanation, whenMiss Doria cut him short. 'Remember our rule, Launcelot. No turgid warcontroversy within these walls. '

I agreed with her. The war had seemed closely knit to the Summerlandscape for all its peace, and to the noble old chambers of theManor. But in that demented modish dining-room it was shriekinglyincongruous. 

Then they spoke of other things. Mostly of pictures or common friends, and a little of books. They paid no heed to me, which was fortunate, for I know nothing about these matters and didn't understand half thelanguage. But once Miss Doria tried to bring me in. They were talkingabout some Russian novel--a name like Leprous Souls--and she asked meif I had read it. By a curious chance I had. It had drifted somehowinto our dug-out on the Scarpe, and after we had all stuck in thesecond chapter it had disappeared in the mud to which it naturallybelonged. The lady praised its 'poignancy' and 'grave beauty'. Iassented and congratulated myself on my second escape--for if thequestion had been put to me I should have described it as God-forgottentwaddle. 

I turned to the girl, who welcomed me with a smile. I had thought herpretty in her V. A. D. Dress, but now, in a filmy black gown and with herhair no longer hidden by a cap, she was the most ravishing thing youever saw. And I observed something else. There was more than good looksin her young face. Her broad, low brow and her laughing eyes wereamazingly intelligent. She had an uncanny power of making her eyes gosuddenly grave and deep, like a glittering river narrowing into a pool. 

'We shall never be introduced, ' she said, 'so let me reveal myself. I'mMary Lamington and these are my aunts ... Did you really like LeprousSouls?'

It was easy enough to talk to her. And oddly enough her mere presencetook away the oppression I had felt in that room. For she belonged tothe out-of-doors and to the old house and to the world at large. Shebelonged to the war, and to that happier world beyond it--a world whichmust be won by going through the struggle and not by shirking it, likethose two silly ladies. 

I could see Wake's eyes often on the girl, while he boomed andoraculated and the Misses Wymondham prattled. Presently theconversation seemed to leave the flowery paths of art and to vergeperilously near forbidden topics. He began to abuse our generals in thefield. I could not choose but listen. Miss Lamington's brows wereslightly bent, as if in disapproval, and my own temper began to rise. 

He had every kind of idiotic criticism--incompetence, faint-heartedness, corruption. Where he got the stuff I can't imagine, for the most grousing Tommy, with his leave stopped, never put togethersuch balderdash. Worst of all he asked me to agree with him. 

It took all my sense of discipline. 'I don't know much about thesubject, ' I said, 'but out in South Africa I did hear that the Britishleading was the weak point. I expect there's a good deal in what yousay. '

It may have been fancy, but the girl at my side seemed to whisper 'Welldone!'

Wake and I did not remain long behind before joining the ladies; Ipurposely cut it short, for I was in mortal fear lest I should lose mytemper and spoil everything. I stood up with my back against themantelpiece for as long as a man may smoke a cigarette, and I let himyarn to me, while I looked steadily at his face. By this time I wasvery clear that Wake was not the fellow to give me my instructions. Hewasn't playing a game. He was a perfectly honest crank, but not afanatic, for he wasn't sure of himself. He had somehow lost hisself-respect and was trying to argue himself back into it. He hadconsiderable brains, for the reasons he gave for differing from most ofhis countrymen were good so far as they went. I shouldn't have cared totake him on in public argument. If you had told me about such a fellowa week before I should have been sick at the thought of him. But now Ididn't dislike him. I was bored by him and I was also tremendouslysorry for him. You could see he was as restless as a hen. 

When we went back to the hall he announced that he must get on theroad, and commandeered Miss Lamington to help him find his bicycle. Itappeared he was staying at an inn a dozen miles off for a couple ofdays' fishing, and the news somehow made me like him better. Presentlythe ladies of the house departed to bed for their beauty sleep and Iwas left to my own devices. 

For some time I sat smoking in the hall wondering when the messengerwould arrive. It was getting late and there seemed to be no preparationin the house to receive anybody. The butler came in with a tray ofdrinks and I asked him if he expected another guest that night. 

'I 'adn't 'eard of it, sir, ' was his answer. 'There 'asn't been atelegram that I know of, and I 'ave received no instructions. '

I lit my pipe and sat for twenty minutes reading a weekly paper. Then Igot up and looked at the family portraits. The moon coming through thelattice invited me out-of-doors as a cure for my anxiety. It was aftereleven o'clock, and I was still without any knowledge of my next step. It is a maddening business to be screwed up for an unpleasant job andto have the wheels of the confounded thing tarry. 

Outside the house beyond a flagged terrace the lawn fell away, white inthe moonshine, to the edge of the stream, which here had expanded intoa miniature lake. By the water's edge was a little formal garden withgrey stone parapets which now gleamed like dusky marble. Great wafts ofscent rose from it, for the lilacs were scarcely over and the may wasin full blossom. Out from the shade of it came suddenly a voice like anightingale. 

It was singing the old song 'Cherry Ripe', a common enough thing whichI had chiefly known from barrel-organs. But heard in the scentedmoonlight it seemed to hold all the lingering magic of an elder Englandand of this hallowed countryside. I stepped inside the garden boundsand saw the head of the girl Mary. 

She was conscious of my presence, for she turned towards me. 

'I was coming to look for you, ' she said, 'now that the house is quiet. I have something to say to you, General Hannay. '

She knew my name and must be somehow in the business. The thoughtentranced me. 

'Thank God I can speak to you freely, ' I cried. 'Who and what areyou--living in that house in that kind of company?'

'My good aunts!' She laughed softly. 'They talk a great deal abouttheir souls, but they really mean their nerves. Why, they are what youcall my camouflage, and a very good one too. '

'And that cadaverous young prig?'

'Poor Launcelot! Yes--camouflage too--perhaps something a little more. You must not judge him too harshly. '

'But ... But--' I did not know how to put it, and stammered in myeagerness. 'How can I tell that you are the right person for me tospeak to? You see I am under orders, and I have got none about you. '

'I will give You Proof, ' she said. 'Three days ago Sir Walter Bullivantand Mr Macgillivray told you to come here tonight and to wait here forfurther instructions. You met them in the little smoking-room at theback of the Rota Club. You were bidden take the name of CorneliusBrand, and turn yourself from a successful general into a pacifistSouth African engineer. Is that correct?'

'Perfectly. '

'You have been restless all evening looking for the messenger to giveyou these instructions. Set your mind at ease. No messenger is coming. You will get your orders from me. '

'I could not take them from a more welcome source, ' I said. 

'Very prettily put. If you want further credentials I can tell you muchabout your own doings in the past three years. I can explain to you whodon't need the explanation, every step in the business of the BlackStone. I think I could draw a pretty accurate map of your journey toErzerum. You have a letter from Peter Pienaar in your pocket--I cantell you its contents. Are you willing to trust me?'

'With all my heart, ' I said. 

'Good. Then my first order will try you pretty hard. For I have noorders to give you except to bid you go and steep yourself in aparticular kind of life. Your first duty is to get "atmosphere", asyour friend Peter used to say. Oh, I will tell you where to go and howto behave. But I can't bid you do anything, only live idly with openeyes and ears till you have got the "feel" of the situation. '

She stopped and laid a hand on my arm. 

'It won't be easy. It would madden me, and it will be a far heavierburden for a man like you. You have got to sink down deep into the lifeof the half-baked, the people whom this war hasn't touched or hastouched in the wrong way, the people who split hairs all day and areengrossed in what you and I would call selfish little fads. Yes. Peoplelike my aunts and Launcelot, only for the most part in a differentsocial grade. You won't live in an old manor like this, but amonggimcrack little "arty" houses. You will hear everything you regard assacred laughed at and condemned, and every kind of nauseous follyacclaimed, and you must hold your tongue and pretend to agree. You willhave nothing in the world to do except to let the life soak into you, and, as I have said, keep your eyes and ears open. '

'But you must give me some clue as to what I should be looking for?'

'My orders are to give you none. Our chiefs--yours and mine--want youto go where you are going without any kind of _parti pris_. Remember weare still in the intelligence stage of the affair. The time hasn't yetcome for a plan of campaign, and still less for action. '

'Tell me one thing, ' I said. 'Is it a really big thing we're after?'

'A--really--big--thing, ' she said slowly and very gravely. 'You and Iand some hundred others are hunting the most dangerous man in all theworld. Till we succeed everything that Britain does is crippled. If wefail or succeed too late the Allies may never win the victory which istheir right. I will tell you one thing to cheer you. It is in some sorta race against time, so your purgatory won't endure too long. '

I was bound to obey, and she knew it, for she took my willingness forgranted. 

From a little gold satchel she selected a tiny box, and opening itextracted a thing like a purple wafer with a white St Andrew's Cross onit. 

'What kind of watch have you? Ah, a hunter. Paste that inside the lid. Some day you may be called on to show it ... One other thing. Buytomorrow a copy of the _Pilgrim's Progress_ and get it by heart. Youwill receive letters and messages some day and the style of our friendsis apt to be reminiscent of John Bunyan ... The car will be at the doortomorrow to catch the ten-thirty, and I will give you the address ofthe rooms that have been taken for you ... Beyond that I have nothingto say, except to beg you to play the part well and keep your temper. You behaved very nicely at dinner. '

I asked one last question as we said good night in the hall. 'Shall Isee you again?'

'Soon, and often, ' was the answer. 'Remember we are colleagues. '

I went upstairs feeling extraordinarily comforted. I had a perfectlybeastly time ahead of me, but now it was all glorified and colouredwith the thought of the girl who had sung 'Cherry Ripe' in the garden. I commended the wisdom of that old serpent Bullivant in the choice ofhis intermediary, for I'm hanged if I would have taken such orders fromanyone else. 

CHAPTER TWO

'The Village Named Morality'

UP on the high veld our rivers are apt to be strings of pools linked bymuddy trickles--the most stagnant kind of watercourse you would lookfor in a day's journey. But presently they reach the edge of theplateau and are tossed down into the flats in noble ravines, and rollthereafter in full and sounding currents to the sea. So with the storyI am telling. It began in smooth reaches, as idle as a mill-pond; yetthe day soon came when I was in the grip of a torrent, flung breathlessfrom rock to rock by a destiny which I could not control. But for thepresent I was in a backwater, no less than the Garden City ofBiggleswick, where Mr Cornelius Brand, a South African gentlemanvisiting England on holiday, lodged in a pair of rooms in the cottageof Mr Tancred Jimson. 

The house--or 'home' as they preferred to name it at Biggleswick--wasone of some two hundred others which ringed a pleasant Midland common. It was badly built and oddly furnished; the bed was too short, thewindows did not fit, the doors did not stay shut; but it was as cleanas soap and water and scrubbing could make it. The three-quarters of anacre of garden were mainly devoted to the culture of potatoes, thoughunder the parlour window Mrs Jimson had a plot of sweet-smelling herbs, and lines of lank sunflowers fringed the path that led to the frontdoor. It was Mrs Jimson who received me as I descended from the stationfly--a large red woman with hair bleached by constant exposure toweather, clad in a gown which, both in shape and material, seemed tohave been modelled on a chintz curtain. She was a good kindly soul, andas proud as Punch of her house. 

'We follow the simple life here, Mr Brand, ' she said. 'You must take usas you find us. '

I assured her that I asked for nothing better, and as I unpacked in myfresh little bedroom with a west wind blowing in at the window Iconsidered that I had seen worse quarters. 

I had bought in London a considerable number of books, for I thoughtthat, as I would have time on my hands, I might as well do somethingabout my education. They were mostly English classics, whose names Iknew but which I had never read, and they were all in a littleflat-backed series at a shilling apiece. I arranged them on top of achest of drawers, but I kept the _Pilgrim's Progress_ beside my bed, for that was one of my working tools and I had got to get it by heart. 

Mrs Jimson, who came in while I was unpacking to see if the room was tomy liking, approved my taste. At our midday dinner she wanted todiscuss books with me, and was so full of her own knowledge that I wasable to conceal my ignorance. 

'We are all labouring to express our personalities, ' she informed me. 'Have you found your medium, Mr Brand? is it to be the pen or thepencil? Or perhaps it is music? You have the brow of an artist, thefrontal "bar of Michelangelo", you remember!'

I told her that I concluded I would try literature, but before writinganything I would read a bit more. 

It was a Saturday, so Jimson came back from town in the earlyafternoon. He was a managing clerk in some shipping office, but youwouldn't have guessed it from his appearance. His city clothes wereloose dark-grey flannels, a soft collar, an orange tie, and a softblack hat. His wife went down the road to meet him, and they returnedhand-in-hand, swinging their arms like a couple of schoolchildren. Hehad a skimpy red beard streaked with grey, and mild blue eyes behindstrong glasses. He was the most friendly creature in the world, full ofrapid questions, and eager to make me feel one of the family. Presentlyhe got into a tweed Norfolk jacket, and started to cultivate hisgarden. I took off my coat and lent him a hand, and when he stopped torest from his labours--which was every five minutes, for he had no kindof physique--he would mop his brow and rub his spectacles and declaimabout the good smell of the earth and the joy of getting close toNature. 

Once he looked at my big brown hands and muscular arms with a kind ofwistfulness. 'You are one of the doers, Mr Brand, ' he said, 'and Icould find it in my heart to envy you. You have seen Nature in wildforms in far countries. Some day I hope you will tell us about yourlife. I must be content with my little corner, but happily there are noterritorial limits for the mind. This modest dwelling is a watch-towerfrom which I look over all the world. '

After that he took me for a walk. We met parties of returningtennis-players and here and there a golfer. There seemed to be anabundance of young men, mostly rather weedy-looking, but with one ortwo well-grown ones who should have been fighting. The names of some ofthem Jimson mentioned with awe. An unwholesome youth was Aronson, thegreat novelist; a sturdy, bristling fellow with a fierce moustache wasLetchford, the celebrated leader-writer of the Critic. Several werepointed out to me as artists who had gone one better than anybody else, and a vast billowy creature was described as the leader of the newOrientalism in England. I noticed that these people, according toJimson, were all 'great', and that they all dabbled in something 'new'. There were quantities of young women, too, most of them rather badlydressed and inclining to untidy hair. And there were several decentcouples taking the air like house-holders of an evening all the worldOver. Most of these last were Jimson's friends, to whom he introducedme. They were his own class--modest folk, who sought for a colouredbackground to their prosaic city lives and found it in this oddsettlement. 

At supper I was initiated into the peculiar merits of Biggleswick. 

'It is one great laboratory of thought, ' said Mrs Jimson. 'It isglorious to feel that you are living among the eager, vital people whoare at the head of all the newest movements, and that the intellectualhistory of England is being made in our studies and gardens. The war tous seems a remote and secondary affair. As someone has said, the greatfights of the world are all fought in the mind. '

A spasm of pain crossed her husband's face. 'I wish I could feel it faraway. After all, Ursula, it is the sacrifice of the young that givespeople like us leisure and peace to think. Our duty is to do the bestwhich is permitted to us, but that duty is a poor thing compared withwhat our young soldiers are giving! I may be quite wrong about the war... I know I can't argue with Letchford. But I will not pretend to asuperiority I do not feel. '

I went to bed feeling that in Jimson I had struck a pretty soundfellow. As I lit the candles on my dressing-table I observed that thestack of silver which I had taken out of my pockets when I washedbefore supper was top-heavy. It had two big coins at the top andsixpences and shillings beneath. Now it is one of my oddities that eversince I was a small boy I have arranged my loose coins symmetrically, with the smallest uppermost. That made me observant and led me tonotice a second point. The English classics on the top of the chest ofdrawers were not in the order I had left them. Izaak Walton had got tothe left of Sir Thomas Browne, and the poet Burns was wedgeddisconsolately between two volumes of Hazlitt. Moreover a receiptedbill which I had stuck in the _Pilgrim's Progress_ to mark my place hadbeen moved. Someone had been going through my belongings. 

A moment's reflection convinced me that it couldn't have been MrsJimson. She had no servant and did the housework herself, but my thingshad been untouched when I left the room before supper, for she had cometo tidy up before I had gone downstairs. Someone had been here while wewere at supper, and had examined elaborately everything I possessed. Happily I had little luggage, and no papers save the new books and abill or two in the name of Cornelius Brand. The inquisitor, whoever hewas, had found nothing ... The incident gave me a good deal of comfort. It had been hard to believe that any mystery could exist in this publicplace, where people lived brazenly in the open, and wore their heartson their sleeves and proclaimed their opinions from the rooftops. Yetmystery there must be, or an inoffensive stranger with a kit-bag wouldnot have received these strange attentions. I made a practice afterthat of sleeping with my watch below my pillow, for inside the case wasMary Lamington's label. Now began a period of pleasant idlereceptiveness. Once a week it was my custom to go up to London for theday to receive letters and instructions, if any should come. I hadmoved from my chambers in Park Lane, which I leased under my propername, to a small flat in Westminster taken in the name of CorneliusBrand. The letters addressed to Park Lane were forwarded to Sir Walter, who sent them round under cover to my new address. For the rest I usedto spend my mornings reading in the garden, and I discovered for thefirst time what a pleasure was to be got from old books. They recalledand amplified that vision I had seen from the Cotswold ridge, therevelation of the priceless heritage which is England. I imbibed amighty quantity of history, but especially I liked the writers, likeWalton, who got at the very heart of the English countryside. Soon, too, I found the _Pilgrim's Progress_ not a duty but a delight. Idiscovered new jewels daily in the honest old story, and my letters toPeter began to be as full of it as Peter's own epistles. I loved, also, the songs of the Elizabethans, for they reminded me of the girl who hadsung to me in the June night. 

In the afternoons I took my exercise in long tramps along the gooddusty English roads. The country fell away from Biggleswick into aplain of wood and pasture-land, with low hills on the horizon. ThePlace was sown with villages, each with its green and pond and ancientchurch. Most, too, had inns, and there I had many a draught of coolnutty ale, for the inn at Biggleswick was a reformed place which soldnothing but washy cider. Often, tramping home in the dusk, I was somuch in love with the land that I could have sung with the pure joy ofit. And in the evening, after a bath, there would be supper, when arather fagged Jimson struggled between sleep and hunger, and the lady, with an artistic mutch on her untidy head, talked ruthlessly of culture. 

Bit by bit I edged my way into local society. The Jimsons were a greathelp, for they were popular and had a nodding acquaintance with most ofthe inhabitants. They regarded me as a meritorious aspirant towards ahigher life, and I was paraded before their friends with the suggestionof a vivid, if Philistine, past. If I had any gift for writing, I wouldmake a book about the inhabitants of Biggleswick. About half wererespectable citizens who came there for country air and low rates, buteven these had a touch of queerness and had picked up the jargon of theplace. The younger men were mostly Government clerks or writers orartists. There were a few widows with flocks of daughters, and on theoutskirts were several bigger houses--mostly houses which had beenthere before the garden city was planted. One of them was brand-new, astaring villa with sham-antique timbering, stuck on the top of a hillamong raw gardens. It belonged to a man called Moxon Ivery, who was akind of academic pacificist and a great god in the place. Another, aquiet Georgian manor house, was owned by a London publisher, an ardentLiberal whose particular branch of business compelled him to keep intouch with the new movements. I used to see him hurrying to the stationswinging a little black bag and returning at night with the fish fordinner. 

I soon got to know a surprising lot of people, and they were therummiest birds you can imagine. For example, there were the Weekeses, three girls who lived with their mother in a house so artistic that youbroke your head whichever way you turned in it. The son of the familywas a conscientious objector who had refused to do any sort of workwhatever, and had got quodded for his pains. They were immensely proudof him and used to relate his sufferings in Dartmoor with a gusto whichI thought rather heartless. Art was their great subject, and I amafraid they found me pretty heavy going. It was their fashion never toadmire anything that was obviously beautiful, like a sunset or a prettywoman, but to find surprising loveliness in things which I thoughthideous. Also they talked a language that was beyond me. This kind ofconversation used to happen. --MISS WEEKES: 'Don't you admire UrsulaJimson?' SELF: 'Rather!' MISS W. : 'She is so John-esque in her lines. 'SELF: 'Exactly!' MISS W. : 'And Tancred, too--he is so full of nuances. 'SELF: 'Rather!' MISS W. : 'He suggests one of Degousse's countrymen. 'SELF: 'Exactly!'

They hadn't much use for books, except some Russian ones, and Iacquired merit in their eyes for having read Leprous Souls. If youtalked to them about that divine countryside, you found they didn'tgive a rap for it and had never been a mile beyond the village. Butthey admired greatly the sombre effect of a train going into Marylebonestation on a rainy day. 

But it was the men who interested me most. Aronson, the novelist, proved on acquaintance the worst kind of blighter. He consideredhimself a genius whom it was the duty of the country to support, and hesponged on his wretched relatives and anyone who would lend him money. He was always babbling about his sins, and pretty squalid they were. Ishould like to have flung him among a few good old-fashionedfull-blooded sinners of my acquaintance; they would have scared himconsiderably. He told me that he sought 'reality' and 'life' and'truth', but it was hard to see how he could know much about them, forhe spent half the day in bed smoking cheap cigarettes, and the restsunning himself in the admiration of half-witted girls. The creaturewas tuberculous in mind and body, and the only novel of his I read, pretty well turned my stomach. Mr Aronson's strong point was jokesabout the war. If he heard of any acquaintance who had joined up or waseven doing war work his merriment knew no bounds. My fingers used toitch to box the little wretch's ears. 

Letchford was a different pair of shoes. He was some kind of a man, tobegin with, and had an excellent brain and the worst mannersconceivable. He contradicted everything you said, and looked out for anargument as other people look for their dinner. He was adouble-engined, high-speed pacificist, because he was the kind ofcantankerous fellow who must always be in a minority. If Britain hadstood out of the war he would have been a raving militarist, but sinceshe was in it he had got to find reasons why she was wrong. And jollygood reasons they were, too. I couldn't have met his arguments if I hadwanted to, so I sat docilely at his feet. The world was all crooked forLetchford, and God had created him with two left hands. But the fellowhad merits. He had a couple of jolly children whom he adored, and hewould walk miles with me on a Sunday, and spout poetry about the beautyand greatness of England. He was forty-five; if he had been thirty andin my battalion I could have made a soldier out of him. 

There were dozens more whose names I have forgotten, but they had onecommon characteristic. They were puffed up with spiritual pride, and Iused to amuse myself with finding their originals in the _Pilgrim'sProgress_. When I tried to judge them by the standard of old Peter, they fell woefully short. They shut out the war from their lives, someout of funk, some out of pure levity of mind, and some because theywere really convinced that the thing was all wrong. I think I grewrather popular in my role of the seeker after truth, the honestcolonial who was against the war by instinct and was looking forinstruction in the matter. They regarded me as a convert from an alienworld of action which they secretly dreaded, though they affected todespise it. Anyhow they talked to me very freely, and before long I hadall the pacifist arguments by heart. I made out that there were threeschools. One objected to war altogether, and this had few adherentsexcept Aronson and Weekes, C. O. , now languishing in Dartmoor. Thesecond thought that the Allies' cause was tainted, and that Britain hadcontributed as much as Germany to the catastrophe. This included allthe adherents of the L. D. A. --or League of Democrats againstAggression--a very proud body. The third and much the largest, whichembraced everybody else, held that we had fought long enough and thatthe business could now be settled by negotiation, since Germany hadlearned her lesson. I was myself a modest member of the last school, but I was gradually working my way up to the second, and I hoped withluck to qualify for the first. My acquaintances approved my progress. Letchford said I had a core of fanaticism in my slow nature, and that Iwould end by waving the red flag. 

Spiritual pride and vanity, as I have said, were at the bottom of mostof them, and, try as I might, I could find nothing very dangerous in itall. This vexed me, for I began to wonder if the mission which I hadembarked on so solemnly were not going to be a fiasco. Sometimes theyworried me beyond endurance. When the news of Messines came nobody tookthe slightest interest, while I was aching to tooth every detail of thegreat fight. And when they talked on military affairs, as Letchford andothers did sometimes, it was difficult to keep from sending them all tothe devil, for their amateur cocksureness would have riled Job. One hadgot to batten down the recollection of our fellows out there who weresweating blood to keep these fools snug. Yet I found it impossible tobe angry with them for long, they were so babyishly innocent. Indeed, Icouldn't help liking them, and finding a sort of quality in them. I hadspent three years among soldiers, and the British regular, great followthat he is, has his faults. His discipline makes him in a funk ofred-tape and any kind of superior authority. Now these people werequite honest and in a perverted way courageous. Letchford was, at anyrate. I could no more have done what he did and got hunted offplatforms by the crowd and hooted at by women in the streets than Icould have written his leading articles. 

All the same I was rather low about my job. Barring the episode of theransacking of my effects the first night, I had not a suspicion of aclue or a hint of any mystery. The place and the people were as openand bright as a Y. M. C. A. Hut. But one day I got a solid wad of comfort. In a corner of Letchford's paper, the _Critic_, I found a letter whichwas one of the steepest pieces of invective I had ever met with. Thewriter gave tongue like a beagle pup about the prostitution, as hecalled it, of American republicanism to the vices of Europeanaristocracies. He declared that Senator La Follette was amuch-misunderstood patriot, seeing that he alone spoke for the toilingmillions who had no other friend. He was mad with President Wilson, andhe prophesied a great awakening when Uncle Sam got up against John Bullin Europe and found out the kind of standpatter he was. The letter wassigned 'John S. Blenkiron' and dated 'London, 3 July'. 

The thought that Blenkiron was in England put a new complexion on mybusiness. I reckoned I would see him soon, for he wasn't the man tostand still in his tracks. He had taken up the role he had playedbefore he left in December 1915, and very right too, for not more thanhalf a dozen people knew of the Erzerum affair, and to the Britishpublic he was only the man who had been fired out of the Savoy fortalking treason. I had felt a bit lonely before, but now somewherewithin the four corners of the island the best companion God ever madewas writing nonsense with his tongue in his old cheek. 

There was an institution in Biggleswick which deserves mention. On thesouth of the common, near the station, stood a red-brick buildingcalled the Moot Hall, which was a kind of church for the very undevoutpopulation. Undevout in the ordinary sense, I mean, for I had alreadycounted twenty-seven varieties of religious conviction, including threeBuddhists, a Celestial Hierarch, five Latter-day Saints, and about tenvarieties of Mystic whose names I could never remember. The hall hadbeen the gift of the publisher I have spoken of, and twice a week itwas used for lectures and debates. The place was managed by a committeeand was surprisingly popular, for it gave all the bubbling intellects achance of airing their views. When you asked where somebody was andwere told he was 'at Moot, ' the answer was spoken in the respectfultone in which you would mention a sacrament. 

I went there regularly and got my mind broadened to cracking point. Wehad all the stars of the New Movements. We had Doctor Chirk, wholectured on 'God', which, as far as I could make out, was a new name hehad invented for himself. There was a woman, a terrible woman, who hadcome back from Russia with what she called a 'message of healing'. Andto my joy, one night there was a great buck nigger who had a lot to sayabout 'Africa for the Africans'. I had a few words with him in Sesutuafterwards, and rather spoiled his visit. Some of the people wereextraordinarily good, especially one jolly old fellow who talked aboutEnglish folk songs and dances, and wanted us to set up a Maypole. Inthe debates which generally followed I began to join, very coyly atfirst, but presently with some confidence. If my time at Biggleswickdid nothing else it taught me to argue on my feet. 

The first big effort I made was on a full-dress occasion, whenLauncelot Wake came down to speak. Mr Ivery was in the chair--the firstI had seen of him--a plump middle-aged man, with a colourless face andnondescript features. I was not interested in him till he began totalk, and then I sat bolt upright and took notice. For he was thegenuine silver-tongue, the sentences flowing from his mouth as smoothas butter and as neatly dovetailed as a parquet floor. He had a sort ofman-of-the-world manner, treating his opponents with condescendinggeniality, deprecating all passion and exaggeration and making you feelthat his urbane statement must be right, for if he had wanted he couldhave put the case so much higher. I watched him, fascinated, studyinghis face carefully; and the thing that struck me was that there wasnothing in it--nothing, that is to say, to lay hold on. It was simplynondescript, so almightily commonplace that that very fact made itrather remarkable. 

Wake was speaking of the revelations of the Sukhomhnov trial in Russia, which showed that Germany had not been responsible for the war. He wasjolly good at the job, and put as clear an argument as a first-classlawyer. I had been sweating away at the subject and had all theordinary case at my fingers' ends, so when I got a chance of speaking Igave them a long harangue, with some good quotations I had cribbed outof the _Vossische Zeitung_, which Letchford lent me. I felt it was upto me to be extra violent, for I wanted to establish my character withWake, seeing that he was a friend of Mary and Mary would know that Iwas playing the game. I got tremendously applauded, far more than thechief speaker, and after the meeting Wake came up to me with his hoteyes, and wrung my hand. 'You're coming on well, Brand, ' he said, andthen he introduced me to Mr Ivery. 'Here's a second and a betterSmuts, ' he said. 

Ivery made me walk a bit of the road home with him. 'I am struck byyour grip on these difficult problems, Mr Brand, ' he told me. 'There ismuch I can tell you, and you may be of great value to our cause. ' Heasked me a lot of questions about my past, which I answered with easymendacity. Before we parted he made me promise to come one night tosupper. 

Next day I got a glimpse of Mary, and to my vexation she cut me dead. She was walking with a flock of bare-headed girls, all chattering hard, and though she saw me quite plainly she turned away her eyes. I hadbeen waiting for my cue, so I did not lift my hat, but passed on as ifwe were strangers. I reckoned it was part of the game, but thattrifling thing annoyed me, and I spent a morose evening. 

The following day I saw her again, this time talking sedately with MrIvery, and dressed in a very pretty summer gown, and a broad-brimmedstraw hat with flowers in it. This time she stopped with a bright smileand held out her hand. 'Mr Brand, isn't it?' she asked with a prettyhesitation. And then, turning to her companion--'This is Mr Brand. Hestayed with us last month in Gloucestershire. '

Mr Ivery announced that he and I were already acquainted. Seen in broaddaylight he was a very personable fellow, somewhere between forty-fiveand fifty, with a middle-aged figure and a curiously young face. Inoticed that there were hardly any lines on it, and it was rather thatof a very wise child than that of a man. He had a pleasant smile whichmade his jaw and cheeks expand like indiarubber. 'You are coming to supwith me, Mr Brand, ' he cried after me. 'On Tuesday after Moot. I havealready written. ' He whisked Mary away from me, and I had to contentmyself with contemplating her figure till it disappeared round a bendof the road. 

Next day in London I found a letter from Peter. He had been very solemnof late, and very reminiscent of old days now that he concluded hisactive life was over. But this time he was in a different mood. '_Ithink, _' he wrote, '_that you and I will meet again soon, my oldfriend. Do you remember when we went after the big black-maned lion inthe Rooirand and couldn't get on his track, and then one morning wewoke up and said we would get him today?--and we did, but he very neargot you first. I've had a feel these last days that we're both goingdown into the Valley to meet with Apolyon, and that the devil will giveus a bad time, but anyhow we'll be together. _'

I had the same kind of feel myself, though I didn't see how Peter and Iwere going to meet, unless I went out to the Front again and got put inthe bag and sent to the same Boche prison. But I had an instinct thatmy time in Biggleswick was drawing to a close, and that presently Iwould be in rougher quarters. I felt quite affectionate towards theplace, and took all my favourite walks, and drank my own health in thebrew of the village inns, with a consciousness of saying goodbye. AlsoI made haste to finish my English classics, for I concluded I wouldn'thave much time in the future for miscellaneous reading. 

The Tuesday came, and in the evening I set out rather late for the MootHall, for I had been getting into decent clothes after a long, hotstride. When I reached the place it was pretty well packed, and I couldonly find a seat on the back benches. There on the platform was Ivery, and beside him sat a figure that thrilled every inch of me withaffection and a wild anticipation. 'I have now the privilege, ' said thechairman, 'of introducing to you the speaker whom we so warmly welcome, our fearless and indefatigable American friend, Mr Blenkiron. '

It was the old Blenkiron, but almightily changed. His stoutness hadgone, and he was as lean as Abraham Lincoln. Instead of a puffy face, his cheek-bones and jaw stood out hard and sharp, and in place of hisformer pasty colour his complexion had the clear glow of health. I sawnow that he was a splendid figure of a man, and when he got to his feetevery movement had the suppleness of an athlete in training. In thatmoment I realized that my serious business had now begun. My sensessuddenly seemed quicker, my nerves tenser, my brain more active. Thebig game had started, and he and I were playing it together. 

I watched him with strained attention. It was a funny speech, stuffedwith extravagance and vehemence, not very well argued and terriblydiscursive. His main point was that Germany was now in a finedemocratic mood and might well be admitted into a brotherlypartnership--that indeed she had never been in any other mood, but hadbeen forced into violence by the plots of her enemies. Much of it, Ishould have thought, was in stark defiance of the Defence of the RealmActs, but if any wise Scotland Yard officer had listened to it he wouldprobably have considered it harmless because of its contradictions. Itwas full of a fierce earnestness, and it was full of humour--long-drawnAmerican metaphors at which that most critical audience roared withlaughter. But it was not the kind of thing that they were accustomedto, and I could fancy what Wake would have said of it. The convictiongrew upon me that Blenkiron was deliberately trying to prove himself anhonest idiot. If so, it was a huge success. He produced on one theimpression of the type of sentimental revolutionary who ruthlesslyknifes his opponent and then weeps and prays over his tomb. 

Just at the end he seemed to pull himself together and to try a littleargument. He made a great point of the Austrian socialists going toStockholm, going freely and with their Government's assent, from acountry which its critics called an autocracy, while the democraticwestern peoples held back. 'I admit I haven't any real water-tightproof, ' he said, 'but I will bet my bottom dollar that the influencewhich moved the Austrian Government to allow this embassy of freedomwas the influence of Germany herself. And that is the land from whichthe Allied Pharisees draw in their skirts lest their garments bedefiled!'

He sat down amid a good deal of applause, for his audience had not beenbored, though I could see that some of them thought his praise ofGermany a bit steep. It was all right in Biggleswick to prove Britainin the wrong, but it was a slightly different thing to extol the enemy. I was puzzled about his last point, for it was not of a piece with therest of his discourse, and I was trying to guess at his purpose. Thechairman referred to it in his concluding remarks. 'I am in aposition, ' he said, 'to bear out all that the lecturer has said. I cango further. I can assure him on the best authority that his surmise iscorrect, and that Vienna's decision to send delegates to Stockholm waslargely dictated by representations from Berlin. I am given tounderstand that the fact has in the last few days been admitted in theAustrian Press. '

A vote of thanks was carried, and then I found myself shaking handswith Ivery while Blenkiron stood a yard off, talking to one of theMisses Weekes. The next moment I was being introduced. 

'Mr Brand, very pleased to meet you, ' said the voice I knew so well. 'Mr Ivery has been telling me about you, and I guess we've gotsomething to say to each other. We're both from noo countries, andwe've got to teach the old nations a little horse-sense. '

Mr Ivery's car--the only one left in the neighbourhood--carried us tohis villa, and presently we were seated in a brightly-lit dining-room. It was not a pretty house, but it had the luxury of an expensive hotel, and the supper we had was as good as any London restaurant. Gone werethe old days of fish and toast and boiled milk. Blenkiron squared hisshoulders and showed himself a noble trencherman. 

'A year ago, ' he told our host, 'I was the meanest kind of dyspeptic. Ihad the love of righteousness in my heart, but I had the devil in mystomach. Then I heard stories about the Robson Brothers, the starsurgeons way out west in White Springs, Nebraska. They were reckonedthe neatest hands in the world at carving up a man and removingdevilments from his intestines. Now, sir, I've always fought pretty shyof surgeons, for I considered that our Maker never intended Hishandiwork to be reconstructed like a bankrupt Dago railway. But by thattime I was feeling so almighty wretched that I could have paid a man toput a bullet through my head. "There's no other way, " I said to myself. "Either you forget your religion and your miserable cowardice and getcut up, or it's you for the Golden Shore. " So I set my teeth andjourneyed to White Springs, and the Brothers had a look at my duodenum. They saw that the darned thing wouldn't do, so they sidetracked it andmade a noo route for my noo-trition traffic. It was the cunningestpiece of surgery since the Lord took a rib out of the side of our FirstParent. They've got a mighty fine way of charging, too, for they takefive per cent of a man's income, and it's all one to them whether he'sa Meat King or a clerk on twenty dollars a week. I can tell you I tooksome trouble to be a very rich man last year. '

All through the meal I sat in a kind of stupor. I was trying toassimilate the new Blenkiron, and drinking in the comfort of hisheavenly drawl, and I was puzzling my head about Ivery. I had aridiculous notion that I had seen him before, but, delve as I mightinto my memory, I couldn't place him. He was the incarnation of thecommonplace, a comfortable middle-class sentimentalist, who patronizedpacificism out of vanity, but was very careful not to dip his hands toofar. He was always damping down Blenkiron's volcanic utterances. 'Ofcourse, as you know, the other side have an argument which I findrather hard to meet ... ' 'I can sympathize with patriotism, and evenwith jingoism, in certain moods, but I always come back to thisdifficulty. ' 'Our opponents are not ill-meaning so much asill-judging, '--these were the sort of sentences he kept throwing in. And he was full of quotations from private conversations he had hadwith every sort of person--including members of the Government. Iremember that he expressed great admiration for Mr Balfour. 

Of all that talk, I only recalled one thing clearly, and I recalled itbecause Blenkiron seemed to collect his wits and try to argue, just ashe had done at the end of his lecture. He was speaking about a story hehad heard from someone, who had heard it from someone else, thatAustria in the last week of July 1914 had accepted Russia's proposal tohold her hand and negotiate, and that the Kaiser had sent a message tothe Tsar saying he agreed. According to his story this telegram hadbeen received in Petrograd, and had been re-written, like Bismarck'sEms telegram, before it reached the Emperor. He expressed his disbeliefin the yarn. 'I reckon if it had been true, ' he said, 'we'd have hadthe right text out long ago. They'd have kept a copy in Berlin. All thesame I did hear a sort of rumour that some kind of message of that sortwas published in a German paper. '

Mr Ivery looked wise. 'You are right, ' he said. 'I happen to know thatit has been published. You will find it in the _Wieser Zeitung_. '

'You don't say?' he said admiringly. 'I wish I could read the oldtombstone language. But if I could they wouldn't let me have thepapers. '

'Oh yes they would. ' Mr Ivery laughed pleasantly. 'England has still agood share of freedom. Any respectable person can get a permit toimport the enemy press. I'm not considered quite respectable, for theauthorities have a narrow definition of patriotism, but happily I haverespectable friends. '

Blenkiron was staying the night, and I took my leave as the clockstruck twelve. They both came into the hall to see me off, and, as Iwas helping myself to a drink, and my host was looking for my hat andstick, I suddenly heard Blenkiron's whisper in my ear. 'London ... Theday after tomorrow, ' he said. Then he took a formal farewell. 'MrBrand, it's been an honour for me, as an American citizen, to make youracquaintance, sir. I will consider myself fortunate if we have an earlyreunion. I am stopping at Claridge's Ho-tel, and I hope to beprivileged to receive you there. '

CHAPTER THREE

The Reflections of a Cured Dyspeptic

Thirty-five hours later I found myself in my rooms in Westminster. Ithought there might be a message for me there, for I didn't propose togo and call openly on Blenkiron at Claridge's till I had hisinstructions. But there was no message--only a line from Peter, sayinghe had hopes of being sent to Switzerland. That made me realize that hemust be pretty badly broken up. 

Presently the telephone bell rang. It was Blenkiron who spoke. 'Go downand have a talk with your brokers about the War Loan. Arrive thereabout twelve o'clock and don't go upstairs till you have met a friend. You'd better have a quick luncheon at your club, and then come toTraill's bookshop in the Haymarket at two. You can get back toBiggleswick by the 5. 16. '

I did as I was bid, and twenty minutes later, having travelled byUnderground, for I couldn't raise a taxi, I approached the block ofchambers in Leadenhall Street where dwelt the respected firm whomanaged my investments. It was still a few minutes before noon, and asI slowed down a familiar figure came out of the bank next door. 

Ivery beamed recognition. 'Up for the day, Mr Brand?' he asked. 'I haveto see my brokers, ' I said, 'read the South African papers in my club, and get back by the 5. 16. Any chance of your company?'

'Why, yes--that's my train. _Au revoir_. We meet at the station. ' Hebustled off, looking very smart with his neat clothes and a rose in hisbutton-hole. 

I lunched impatiently, and at two was turning over some new books inTraill's shop with an eye on the street-door behind me. It seemed apublic place for an assignation. I had begun to dip into a bigillustrated book on flower-gardens when an assistant came up. 'Themanager's compliments, sir, and he thinks there are some old works oftravel upstairs that might interest you. ' I followed him obediently toan upper floor lined with every kind of volume and with tables litteredwith maps and engravings. 'This way, sir, ' he said, and opened a doorin the wall concealed by bogus book-backs. I found myself in a littlestudy, and Blenkiron sitting in an armchair smoking. 

He got up and seized both my hands. 'Why, Dick, this is better thangood noos. I've heard all about your exploits since we parted a yearago on the wharf at Liverpool. We've both been busy on our own jobs, and there was no way of keeping you wise about my doings, for after Ithought I was cured I got worse than hell inside, and, as I told you, had to get the doctor-men to dig into me. After that I was playing apretty dark game, and had to get down and out of decent society. But, holy Mike! I'm a new man. I used to do my work with a sick heart and ataste in my mouth like a graveyard, and now I can eat and drink what Ilike and frolic round like a colt. I wake up every morning whistlingand thank the good God that I'm alive, It was a bad day for Kaiser whenI got on the cars for White Springs. '

'This is a rum place to meet, ' I said, 'and you brought me by aroundabout road. '

He grinned and offered me a cigar. 

'There were reasons. It don't do for you and me to advertise ouracquaintance in the street. As for the shop, I've owned it for fiveyears. I've a taste for good reading, though you wouldn't think it, andit tickles me to hand it out across the counter ... First, I want tohear about Biggleswick. '

'There isn't a great deal to it. A lot of ignorance, a large slice ofvanity, and a pinch or two of wrong-headed honesty--these are theingredients of the pie. Not much real harm in it. There's one or twodirty literary gents who should be in a navvies' battalion, but they'reabout as dangerous as yellow Kaffir dogs. I've learned a lot and gotall the arguments by heart, but you might plant a Biggleswick in everyshire and it wouldn't help the Boche. I can see where the danger liesall the same. These fellows talked academic anarchism, but the genuinearticle is somewhere about and to find it you've got to look in the bigindustrial districts. We had faint echoes of it in Biggleswick. I meanthat the really dangerous fellows are those who want to close up thewar at once and so get on with their blessed class war, which cutsacross nationalities. As for being spies and that sort of thing, theBiggleswick lads are too callow. '

'Yes, ' said Blenkiron reflectively. 'They haven't got as much sense asGod gave to geese. You're sure you didn't hit against any heaviermetal?'

'Yes. There's a man called Launcelot Wake, who came down to speak once. I had met him before. He has the makings of a fanatic, and he's themore dangerous because you can see his conscience is uneasy. I canfancy him bombing a Prime Minister merely to quiet his own doubts. '

'So, ' he said. 'Nobody else?'

I reflected. 'There's Mr Ivery, but you know him better than I. Ishouldn't put much on him, but I'm not precisely certain, for I neverhad a chance of getting to know him. '

'Ivery, ' said Blenkiron in surprise. 'He has a hobby for half-bakedyouth, just as another rich man might fancy orchids or fast trotters. You sure can place him right enough. '

'I dare say. Only I don't know enough to be positive. '

He sucked at his cigar for a minute or so. 'I guess, Dick, if I toldyou all I've been doing since I reached these shores you would call mea romancer. I've been way down among the toilers. I did a spell asunskilled dilooted labour in the Barrow shipyards. I was barman in ahotel on the Portsmouth Road, and I put in a black month driving ataxicab in the city of London. For a while I was the accreditedcorrespondent of the Noo York Sentinel and used to go with the rest ofthe bunch to the pow-wows of under-secretaries of State and War Officegenerals. They censored my stuff so cruel that the paper fired me. ThenI went on a walking-tour round England and sat for a fortnight in alittle farm in Suffolk. By and by I came back to Claridge's and thisbookshop, for I had learned most of what I wanted. 

'I had learned, ' he went on, turning his curious, full, ruminating eyeson me, 'that the British working-man is about the soundest piece ofhumanity on God's earth. He grumbles a bit and jibs a bit when hethinks the Government are giving him a crooked deal, but he's gottenthe patience of Job and the sand of a gamecock. And he's gotten humourtoo, that tickles me to death. There's not much trouble in that quarterfor it's he and his kind that's beating the Hun ... But I picked up athing or two besides that. '

He leaned forward and tapped me on the knee. 'I reverence the BritishIntelligence Service. Flies don't settle on it to any considerableextent. It's got a mighty fine mesh, but there's one hole in that mesh, and it's our job to mend it. There's a high-powered brain in the gameagainst us. I struck it a couple of years ago when I was hunting Dumbaand Albert, and I thought it was in Noo York, but it wasn't. I struckits working again at home last year and located its head office inEurope. So I tried Switzerland and Holland, but only bits of it werethere. The centre of the web where the old spider sits is right here inEngland, and for six months I've been shadowing that spider. There's agang to help, a big gang, and a clever gang, and partly an innocentgang. But there's only one brain, and it's to match that that theRobson Brothers settled my duodenum. '

I was listening with a quickened pulse, for now at last I was gettingto business. 

'What is he--international socialist, or anarchist, or what?' I asked. 

'Pure-blooded Boche agent, but the biggest-sized brand in thecatalogue--bigger than Steinmeier or old Bismarck's Staubier. Thank GodI've got him located ... I must put you wise about some things. '

He lay back in his rubbed leather armchair and yarned for twentyminutes. He told me how at the beginning of the war Scotland Yard hadhad a pretty complete register of enemy spies, and without making anyfuss had just tidied them away. After that, the covey having beenbroken up, it was a question of picking off stray birds. That had takensome doing. There had been all kinds of inflammatory stuff around, RedMasons and international anarchists, and, worst of all, internationalfinance-touts, but they had mostly been ordinary cranks and rogues, thetools of the Boche agents rather than agents themselves. However, bythe middle of 1915 most of the stragglers had been gathered in. Butthere remained loose ends, and towards the close of last year somebodywas very busy combining these ends into a net. Funny cases cropped upof the leakage of vital information. They began to be bad about October1916, when the Hun submarines started on a special racket. The enemysuddenly appeared possessed of a knowledge which we thought to beshared only by half a dozen officers. Blenkiron said he was notsurprised at the leakage, for there's always a lot of people who hearthings they oughtn't to. What surprised him was that it got so quicklyto the enemy. 

Then after last February, when the Hun submarines went in forfrightfulness on a big scale, the thing grew desperate. Leakagesoccurred every week, and the business was managed by people who knewtheir way about, for they avoided all the traps set for them, and whenbogus news was released on purpose, they never sent it. A convoy whichhad been kept a deadly secret would be attacked at the one place whereit was helpless. A carefully prepared defensive plan would becheckmated before it could be tried. Blenkiron said that there was noevidence that a single brain was behind it all, for there was nosimilarity in the cases, but he had a strong impression all the timethat it was the work of one man. We managed to close some of thebolt-holes, but we couldn't put our hands near the big ones. 'By thistime, ' said he, 'I reckoned I was about ready to change my methods. Ihad been working by what the highbrows call induction, trying to argueup from the deeds to the doer. Now I tried a new lay, which was tocalculate down from the doer to the deeds. They call it deduction. Iopined that somewhere in this island was a gentleman whom we will callMr X, and that, pursuing the line of business he did, he must havecertain characteristics. I considered very carefully just what sort ofpersonage he must be. I had noticed that his device was apparently theDouble Bluff. That is to say, when he had two courses open to him, Aand B, he pretended he was going to take B, and so got us guessing thathe would try A. Then he took B after all. So I reckoned that hiscamouflage must correspond to this little idiosyncrasy. Being a Bocheagent, he wouldn't pretend to be a hearty patriot, an honest oldblood-and-bones Tory. That would be only the Single Bluff. I consideredthat he would be a pacifist, cunning enough just to keep inside thelaw, but with the eyes of the police on him. He would write books whichwould not be allowed to be exported. He would get himself disliked inthe popular papers, but all the mugwumps would admire his moralcourage. I drew a mighty fine picture to myself of just the man Iexpected to find. Then I started out to look for him. '

Blenkiron's face took on the air of a disappointed child. 'It was nogood. I kept barking up the wrong tree and wore myself out playing thesleuth on white-souled innocents. '

'But you've found him all right, ' I cried, a sudden suspicion leapinginto my brain. 

'He's found, ' he said sadly, 'but the credit does not belong to John S. Blenkiron. That child merely muddied the pond. The big fish was leftfor a young lady to hook. '

'I know, ' I cried excitedly. 'Her name is Miss Mary Lamington. '

He shook a disapproving head. 'You've guessed right, my son, but you'veforgotten your manners. This is a rough business and we won't bring inthe name of a gently reared and pure-minded young girl. If we speak toher at all we call her by a pet name out of the _Pilgrim's Progress_... Anyhow she hooked the fish, though he isn't landed. D'you see anylight?'

'Ivery, ' I gasped. 

'Yes. Ivery. Nothing much to look at, you say. A common, middle-aged, pie-faced, golf-playing high-brow, that you wouldn't keep out of aSunday school. A touch of the drummer, too, to show he has no dealingswith your effete aristocracy. A languishing silver-tongue that adoresthe sound of his own voice. As mild, you'd say, as curds and cream. '

Blenkiron got out of his chair and stood above me. 'I tell you, Dick, that man makes my spine cold. He hasn't a drop of good red blood inhim. The dirtiest apache is a Christian gentleman compared to MoxonIvery. He's as cruel as a snake and as deep as hell. But, by God, he'sgot a brain below his hat. He's hooked and we're playing him, but Lordknows if he'll ever be landed!'

'Why on earth don't you put him away?' I asked. 

'We haven't the proof--legal proof, I mean; though there's buckets ofthe other kind. I could put up a morally certain case, but he'd beat mein a court of law. And half a hundred sheep would get up in Parliamentand bleat about persecution. He has a graft with every collection ofcranks in England, and with all the geese that cackle about the libertyof the individual when the Boche is ranging about to enslave the world. No, sir, that's too dangerous a game! Besides, I've a better in hand, Moxon Ivery is the best-accredited member of this State. His _dossier_is the completest thing outside the Recording Angel's little note-book. We've taken up his references in every corner of the globe and they'reall as right as Morgan's balance sheet. From these it appears he's beena high-toned citizen ever since he was in short-clothes. He was raisedin Norfolk, and there are people living who remember his father. He waseducated at Melton School and his name's in the register. He was inbusiness in Valparaiso, and there's enough evidence to write threevolumes of his innocent life there. Then he came home with a modestcompetence two years before the war, and has been in the public eyeever since. He was Liberal candidate for a London constitooency and hehas decorated the board of every institootion formed for theamelioration of mankind. He's got enough alibis to choke a boaconstrictor, and they're water-tight and copper-bottomed, and they'remostly damned lies ... But you can't beat him at that stunt. The man'sthe superbest actor that ever walked the earth. You can see it in hisface. It isn't a face, it's a mask. He could make himself look likeShakespeare or Julius Caesar or Billy Sunday or Brigadier-GeneralRichard Hannay if he wanted to. He hasn't got any personalityeither--he's got fifty, and there's no one he could call his own. Ireckon when the devil gets the handling of him at last he'll have toput sand on his claws to keep him from slipping through. '

Blenkiron was settled in his chair again, with one leg hoisted over theside. 

'We've closed a fair number of his channels in the last few months. No, he don't suspect me. The world knows nothing of its greatest men, andto him I'm only a Yankee peace-crank, who gives big subscriptions toloony societies and will travel a hundred miles to let off steam beforeany kind of audience. He's been to see me at Claridge's and I'vearranged that he shall know all my record. A darned bad record it istoo, for two years ago I was violent pro-British before I foundsalvation and was requested to leave England. When I was home last Iwas officially anti-war, when I wasn't stretched upon a bed of pain. MrMoxon Ivery don't take any stock in John S. Blenkiron as a seriousproposition. And while I've been here I've been so low down in thesocial scale and working in so many devious ways that he can't connectme up ... As I was saying, we've cut most of his wires, but the biggestwe haven't got at. He's still sending stuff out, and mightycompromising stuff it is. Now listen close, Dick, for we're coming nearyour own business. '

It appeared that Blenkiron had reason to suspect that the channel stillopen had something to do with the North. He couldn't get closer thanthat, till he heard from his people that a certain Abel Gresson hadturned up in Glasgow from the States. This Gresson he discovered wasthe same as one Wrankester, who as a leader of the Industrial Workersof the World had been mixed up in some ugly cases of sabotage inColorado. He kept his news to himself, for he didn't want the police tointerfere, but he had his own lot get into touch with Gresson andshadow him closely. The man was very discreet but very mysterious, andhe would disappear for a week at a time, leaving no trace. For someunknown reason--he couldn't explain why--Blenkiron had arrived at theconclusion that Gresson was in touch with Ivery, so he made experimentsto prove it. 

'I wanted various cross-bearings to make certain, and I got them thenight before last. My visit to Biggleswick was good business. '

'I don't know what they meant, ' I said, 'but I know where they came in. One was in your speech when you spoke of the Austrian socialists, andIvery took you up about them. The other was after supper when he quotedthe _Wieser Zeitung_. '

'You're no fool, Dick, ' he said, with his slow smile. 'You've hit themark first shot. You know me and you could follow my process of thoughtin those remarks. Ivery, not knowing me so well, and having his headfull of just that sort of argument, saw nothing unusual. Those bits ofnoos were pumped into Gresson that he might pass them on. And he didpass them on--to Ivery. They completed my chain. '

'But they were commonplace enough things which he might have guessedfor himself. '

'No, they weren't. They were the nicest tit-bits of political nooswhich all the cranks have been reaching after. '

'Anyhow, they were quotations from German papers. He might have had thepapers themselves earlier than you thought. '

'Wrong again. The paragraph never appeared in the _Wieser Zeitung_. Butwe faked up a torn bit of that noospaper, and a very pretty bit offorgery it was, and Gresson, who's a kind of a scholar, was allowed tohave it. He passed it on. Ivery showed it me two nights ago. Nothinglike it ever sullied the columns of Boche journalism. No, it was aperfectly final proof ... Now, Dick, it's up to you to get afterGresson. '

'Right, ' I said. 'I'm jolly glad I'm to start work again. I'm gettingfat from lack of exercise. I suppose you want me to catch Gresson outin some piece of blackguardism and have him and Ivery snugly put away. '

'I don't want anything of the kind, ' he said very slowly anddistinctly. 'You've got to attend very close to your instructions, Icherish these two beauties as if they were my own white-headed boys. Iwouldn't for the world interfere with their comfort and liberty. I wantthem to go on corresponding with their friends. I want to give themevery facility. '

He burst out laughing at my mystified face. 

'See here, Dick. How do we want to treat the Boche? Why, to fill him upwith all the cunningest lies and get him to act on them. Now here isMoxon Ivery, who has always given them good information. They trust himabsolutely, and we would be fools to spoil their confidence. Only, ifwe can find out Moxon's methods, we can arrange to use them ourselvesand send noos in his name which isn't quite so genooine. Every word hedispatches goes straight to the Grand High Secret General Staff, andold Hindenburg and Ludendorff put towels round their heads and cipherit out. We want to encourage them to go on doing it. We'll arrange tosend true stuff that don't matter, so as they'll continue to trust him, and a few selected falsehoods that'll matter like hell. It's a game youcan't play for ever, but with luck I propose to play it long enough toconfuse Fritz's little plans. '

His face became serious and wore the air that our corps commander usedto have at the big pow-wow before a push. 

'I'm not going to give you instructions, for you're man enough to makeyour own. But I can give you the general hang of the situation. Youtell Ivery you're going North to inquire into industrial disputes atfirst hand. That will seem to him natural and in line with your recentbehaviour. He'll tell his people that you're a guileless colonial whofeels disgruntled with Britain, and may come in useful. You'll go to aman of mine in Glasgow, a red-hot agitator who chooses that way ofdoing his bit for his country. It's a darned hard way and darneddangerous. Through him you'll get in touch with Gresson, and you'llkeep alongside that bright citizen. Find out what he is doing, and geta chance of following him. He must never suspect you, and for thatpurpose you must be very near the edge of the law yourself. You go upthere as an unabashed pacifist and you'll live with folk that will turnyour stomach. Maybe you'll have to break some of these two-cent rulesthe British Government have invented to defend the realm, and it's upto you not to get caught out ... Remember, you'll get no help from me. You've got to wise up about Gresson with the whole forces of theBritish State arrayed officially against you. I guess it's a steepproposition, but you're man enough to make good. '

As we shook hands, he added a last word. 'You must take your own time, but it's not a case for slouching. Every day that passes Ivery issending out the worst kind of poison. The Boche is blowing up for a bigcampaign in the field, and a big effort to shake the nerve and confusethe judgement of our civilians. The whole earth's war-weary, and we'veabout reached the danger-point. There's pretty big stakes hang on you, Dick, for things are getting mighty delicate. '

 * * * * *

I purchased a new novel in the shop and reached St Pancras in time tohave a cup of tea at the buffet. Ivery was at the bookstall buying anevening paper. When we got into the carriage he seized my _Punch_ andkept laughing and calling my attention to the pictures. As I looked athim, I thought that he made a perfect picture of the citizen turnedcountryman, going back of an evening to his innocent home. Everythingwas right--his neat tweeds, his light spats, his spotted neckcloth, andhis Aquascutum. 

Not that I dared look at him much. What I had learned made me eager tosearch his face, but I did not dare show any increased interest. I hadalways been a little off-hand with him, for I had never much liked him, so I had to keep on the same manner. He was as merry as a grig, full ofchat and very friendly and amusing. I remember he picked up the book Ihad brought off that morning to read in the train--the second volume ofHazlitt's _Essays_, the last of my English classics--and discoursed sowisely about books that I wished I had spent more time in his companyat Biggleswick. 

'Hazlitt was the academic Radical of his day, ' he said. 'He is alwayslashing himself into a state of theoretical fury over abuses he hasnever encountered in person. Men who are up against the real thing savetheir breath for action. '

That gave me my cue to tell him about my journey to the North. I said Ihad learned a lot in Biggleswick, but I wanted to see industrial lifeat close quarters. 'Otherwise I might become like Hazlitt, ' I said. 

He was very interested and encouraging. 'That's the right way to setabout it, ' he said. 'Where were you thinking of going?'

I told him that I had half thought of Barrow, but decided to tryGlasgow, since the Clyde seemed to be a warm corner. 

'Right, ' he said. 'I only wish I was coming with you. It'll take you alittle while to understand the language. You'll find a good deal ofsenseless bellicosity among the workmen, for they've got parrot-criesabout the war as they used to have parrot-cries about their labourpolitics. But there's plenty of shrewd brains and sound hearts too. Youmust write and tell me your conclusions. '

It was a warm evening and he dozed the last part of the journey. Ilooked at him and wished I could see into the mind at the back of thatmask-like face. I counted for nothing in his eyes, not even enough forhim to want to make me a tool, and I was setting out to try to make atool of him. It sounded a forlorn enterprise. And all the while I waspuzzled with a persistent sense of recognition. I told myself it wasidiocy, for a man with a face like that must have hints of resemblanceto a thousand people. But the idea kept nagging at me till we reachedour destination. 

As we emerged from the station into the golden evening I saw MaryLamington again. She was with one of the Weekes girls, and after theBiggleswick fashion was bareheaded, so that the sun glinted from herhair. Ivery swept his hat off and made her a pretty speech, while Ifaced her steady eyes with the expressionlessness of the stageconspirator. 

'A charming child, ' he observed as we passed on. 'Not without a touchof seriousness, too, which may yet be touched to noble issues. '

I considered, as I made my way to my final supper with the Jimsons, that the said child was likely to prove a sufficiently serious businessfor Mr Moxon Ivery before the game was out. 

CHAPTER FOUR

Andrew Amos

I took the train three days later from King's Cross to Edinburgh. Iwent to the Pentland Hotel in Princes Street and left there a suit-casecontaining some clean linen and a change of clothes. I had beenthinking the thing out, and had come to the conclusion that I must havea base somewhere and a fresh outfit. Then in well-worn tweeds and withno more luggage than a small trench kit-bag, I descended upon the cityof Glasgow. 

I walked from the station to the address which Blenkiron had given me. It was a hot summer evening, and the streets were filled withbareheaded women and weary-looking artisans. As I made my way down theDumbarton Road I was amazed at the number of able-bodied fellows about, considering that you couldn't stir a mile on any British front withoutbumping up against a Glasgow battalion. Then I realized that there weresuch things as munitions and ships, and I wondered no more. 

A stout and dishevelled lady at a close-mouth directed me to Mr Amos'sdwelling. 'Twa stairs up. Andra will be in noo, havin' his tea. He's noyin for overtime. He's generally hame on the chap of six. ' I ascendedthe stairs with a sinking heart, for like all South Africans I have ahorror of dirt. The place was pretty filthy, but at each landing therewere two doors with well-polished handles and brass plates. On one Iread the name of Andrew Amos. 

A man in his shirt-sleeves opened to me, a little man, without acollar, and with an unbuttoned waistcoat. That was all I saw of him inthe dim light, but he held out a paw like a gorilla's and drew me in. 

The sitting-room, which looked over many chimneys to a pale yellow skyagainst which two factory stalks stood out sharply, gave me lightenough to observe him fully. He was about five feet four, broad-shouldered, and with a great towsy head of grizzled hair. He worespectacles, and his face was like some old-fashioned Scots minister's, for he had heavy eyebrows and whiskers which joined each other underhis jaw, while his chin and enormous upper lip were clean-shaven. Hiseyes were steely grey and very solemn, but full of smouldering energy. His voice was enormous and would have shaken the walls if he had nothad the habit of speaking with half-closed lips. He had not a soundtooth in his head. 

A saucer full of tea and a plate which had once contained ham and eggswere on the table. He nodded towards them and asked me if I had fed. 

'Ye'll no eat onything? Well, some would offer ye a dram, but thishouse is staunch teetotal. I door ye'll have to try the nearest publicif ye're thirsty. '

I disclaimed any bodily wants, and produced my pipe, at which hestarted to fill an old clay. 'Mr Brand's your name?' he asked in hisgusty voice. 'I was expectin' ye, but Dod! man ye're late!'

He extricated from his trousers pocket an ancient silver watch, andregarded it with disfavour. 'The dashed thing has stoppit. What do yemake the time, Mr Brand?'

He proceeded to prise open the lid of his watch with the knife he hadused to cut his tobacco, and, as he examined the works, he turned theback of the case towards me. On the inside I saw pasted MaryLamington's purple-and-white wafer. 

I held my watch so that he could see the same token. His keen eyes, raised for a second, noted it, and he shut his own with a snap andreturned it to his pocket. His manner lost its wariness and becamealmost genial. 

'Ye've come up to see Glasgow, Mr Brand? Well, it's a steerin' bit, andthere's honest folk bides in it, and some not so honest. They tell meye're from South Africa. That's a long gait away, but I ken somethingaboot South Africa, for I had a cousin's son oot there for his lungs. He was in a shop in Main Street, Bloomfountain. They called him PeterDobson. Ye would maybe mind of him. '

Then he discoursed of the Clyde. He was an incomer, he told me, fromthe Borders, his native place being the town of Galashiels, or, as hecalled it, 'Gawly'. 'I began as a powerloom tuner in Stavert's mill. Then my father dee'd and I took up his trade of jiner. But it's noworld nowadays for the sma' independent business, so I cam to the Clydeand learned a shipwright's job. I may say I've become a leader in thetrade, for though I'm no an official of the Union, and not likely tobe, there's no man's word carries more weight than mine. And theGoavernment kens that, for they've sent me on commissions up and downthe land to look at wuds and report on the nature of the timber. Bribery, they think it is, but Andrew Amos is not to be bribit. He'llhave his say about any Goavernment on earth, and tell them to theirface what he thinks of them. Ay, and he'll fight the case of theworkingman against his oppressor, should it be the Goavernment or thefatted calves they ca' Labour Members. Ye'll have heard tell o' theshop stewards, Mr Brand?'

I admitted I had, for I had been well coached by Blenkiron in thecurrent history of industrial disputes. 

'Well, I'm a shop steward. We represent the rank and file againstoffice-bearers that have lost the confidence o' the workingman. But I'mno socialist, and I would have ye keep mind of that. I'm yin o' the oldBorder radicals, and I'm not like to change. I'm for individual libertyand equal rights and chances for all men. I'll no more bow down beforea Dagon of a Goavernment official than before the Baal of a fecklessTweedside laird. I've to keep my views to mysel', for thae young ladsare all drucken-daft with their wee books about Cawpital andCollectivism and a wheen long senseless words I wouldna fyle my tonguewith. Them and their socialism! There's more gumption in a page of JohnStuart Mill than in all that foreign trash. But, as I say, I've got tokeep a quiet sough, for the world is gettin' socialism now like themeasles. It all comes of a defective eddication. '

'And what does a Border radical say about the war?' I asked. 

He took off his spectacles and cocked his shaggy brows at me. 'I'lltell ye, Mr Brand. All that was bad in all that I've ever wrestled withsince I cam to years o' discretion--Tories and lairds and manufacturersand publicans and the Auld Kirk--all that was bad, I say, for therewere orra bits of decency, ye'll find in the Germans full measurepressed down and running over. When the war started, I considered thesubject calmly for three days, and then I said: "Andra Amos, ye'vefound the enemy at last. The ones ye fought before were in a manner o'speakin' just misguided friends. It's either you or the Kaiser thistime, my man!"'

His eyes had lost their gravity and had taken on a sombre ferocity. 'Ay, and I've not wavered. I got a word early in the business as to theway I could serve my country best. It's not been an easy job, andthere's plenty of honest folk the day will give me a bad name. Theythink I'm stirrin' up the men at home and desertin' the cause o' thelads at the front. Man, I'm keepin' them straight. If I didna fighttheir battles on a sound economic isshue, they would take the dorts andbe at the mercy of the first blagyird that preached revolution. Me andmy like are safety-valves, if ye follow me. And dinna you make onymistake, Mr Brand. The men that are agitating for a rise in wages arenot for peace. They're fighting for the lads overseas as much as forthemselves. There's not yin in a thousand that wouldna sweat himselfblind to beat the Germans. The Goavernment has made mistakes, and maunbe made to pay for them. If it were not so, the men would feel like amoose in a trap, for they would have no way to make their grievancefelt. What for should the big man double his profits and the small manbe ill set to get his ham and egg on Sabbath mornin'? That's themeaning o' Labour unrest, as they call it, and it's a good thing, saysI, for if Labour didna get its leg over the traces now and then, thespunk o' the land would be dead in it, and Hindenburg could squeeze itlike a rotten aipple. '

I asked if he spoke for the bulk of the men. 

'For ninety per cent in ony ballot. I don't say that there's not plentyof riff-raff--the pint-and-a-dram gentry and the soft-heads that areaye reading bits of newspapers, and muddlin' their wits with foreignwhigmaleeries. But the average man on the Clyde, like the average manin ither places, hates just three things, and that's the Germans, theprofiteers, as they call them, and the Irish. But he hates the Germansfirst. '

'The Irish!' I exclaimed in astonishment. 

'Ay, the Irish, ' cried the last of the old Border radicals. 'Glasgow'sstinkin' nowadays with two things, money and Irish. I mind the day whenI followed Mr Gladstone's Home Rule policy, and used to threep aboutthe noble, generous, warm-hearted sister nation held in a foreignbondage. My Goad! I'm not speakin' about Ulster, which is a dour, ill-natured den, but our own folk all the same. But the men that willnot do a hand's turn to help the war and take the chance of ournecessities to set up a bawbee rebellion are hateful to Goad and man. We treated them like pet lambs and that's the thanks we get. They'recoming over here in thousands to tak the jobs of the lads that aredoing their duty. I was speakin' last week to a widow woman that keepsa wee dairy down the Dalmarnock Road. She has two sons, and both in theairmy, one in the Cameronians and one a prisoner in Germany. She wastelling me that she could not keep goin' any more, lacking the help ofthe boys, though she had worked her fingers to the bone. "Surely it's acrool job, Mr Amos, " she says, "that the Goavernment should tak baithmy laddies, and I'll maybe never see them again, and let the Irish gangfree and tak the bread frae our mouth. At the gasworks across the roadthey took on a hundred Irish last week, and every yin o' them as youngand well set up as you would ask to see. And my wee Davie, him that'sin Germany, had aye a weak chest, and Jimmy was troubled wi' a bowelcomplaint. That's surely no justice!". ... '

He broke off and lit a match by drawing it across the seat of histrousers. 'It's time I got the gas lichtit. There's some men cominghere at half-ten. '

As the gas squealed and flickered in the lighting, he sketched for methe coming guests. 'There's Macnab and Niven, two o' my colleagues. Andthere's Gilkison of the Boiler-fitters, and a lad Wilkie--he's gotconsumption, and writes wee bits in the papers. And there's a queerchap o' the name o' Tombs--they tell me he comes frae Cambridge, and isa kind of a professor there--anyway he's more stuffed wi' havers thanan egg wi' meat. He telled me he was here to get at the heart o' theworkingman, and I said to him that he would hae to look a bit furtherthan the sleeve o' the workin'-man's jaicket. There's no muckle in hishead, poor soul. Then there'll be Tam Norie, him that edits our weeklypaper--_Justice for All_. Tam's a humorist and great on Robert Burns, but he hasna the balance o' a dwinin' teetotum ... Ye'll understand, MrBrand, that I keep my mouth shut in such company, and don't express myown views more than is absolutely necessary. I criticize whiles, andthat gives me a name of whunstane common-sense, but I never let mytongue wag. The feck o' the lads comin' the night are not the realworkingman--they're just the froth on the pot, but it's the froth thatwill be useful to you. Remember they've heard tell o' ye already, andye've some sort o' reputation to keep up. '

'Will Mr Abel Gresson be here?' I asked. 

'No, ' he said. 'Not yet. Him and me havena yet got to the point o'payin' visits. But the men that come will be Gresson's friends andthey'll speak of ye to him. It's the best kind of introduction ye couldseek. '

The knocker sounded, and Mr Amos hastened to admit the first comers. These were Macnab and Wilkie: the one a decent middle-aged man with afresh-washed face and a celluloid collar, the other a round-shoulderedyouth, with lank hair and the large eyes and luminous skin which arethe marks of phthisis. 'This is Mr Brand boys, from South Africa, ' wasAmos's presentation. Presently came Niven, a bearded giant, and MrNorie, the editor, a fat dirty fellow smoking a rank cigar. Gilkison ofthe Boiler-fitters, when he arrived, proved to be a pleasant young manin spectacles who spoke with an educated voice and clearly belonged toa slightly different social scale. Last came Tombs, the Cambridge'professor, a lean youth with a sour mouth and eyes that reminded me ofLauncelot Wake. 

'Ye'll no be a mawgnate, Mr Brand, though ye come from South Africa, 'said Mr Norie with a great guffaw. 

'Not me. I'm a working engineer, ' I said. 'My father was from Scotland, and this is my first visit to my native country, as my friend Mr Amoswas telling you. '

The consumptive looked at me suspiciously. 'We've got two--three of thecomrades here that the cawpitalist Government expelled from theTransvaal. If ye're our way of thinking, ye will maybe ken them. '

I said I would be overjoyed to meet them, but that at the time of theoutrage in question I had been working on a mine a thousand milesfurther north. 

Then ensued an hour of extraordinary talk. Tombs in his sing-songnamby-pamby University voice was concerned to get information. He askedendless questions, chiefly of Gilkison, who was the only one who reallyunderstood his language. I thought I had never seen anyone quite sofluent and so futile, and yet there was a kind of feeble violence inhim like a demented sheep. He was engaged in venting some privateacademic spite against society, and I thought that in a revolution hewould be the class of lad I would personally conduct to the nearestlamp-post. And all the while Amos and Macnab and Niven carried on theirown conversation about the affairs of their society, wholly imperviousto the tornado raging around them. 

It was Mr Norie, the editor, who brought me into the discussion. 

'Our South African friend is very blate, ' he said in his boisterousway. 'Andra, if this place of yours wasn't so damned teetotal and wehad a dram apiece, we might get his tongue loosened. I want to hearwhat he's got to say about the war. You told me this morning he wassound in the faith. '

'I said no such thing, ' said Mr Amos. 'As ye ken well, Tam Norie, Idon't judge soundness on that matter as you judge it. I'm for the warmyself, subject to certain conditions that I've often stated. I knownothing of Mr Brand's opinions, except that he's a good democrat, whichis more than I can say of some o' your friends. '

'Hear to Andra, ' laughed Mr Norie. 'He's thinkin' the inspector in theSocialist State would be a waur kind of awristocrat then the Duke ofBuccleuch. Weel, there's maybe something in that. But about the warhe's wrong. Ye ken my views, boys. This war was made by thecawpitalists, and it has been fought by the workers, and it's theworkers that maun have the ending of it. That day's comin' very near. There are those that want to spin it out till Labour is that weak itcan be pit in chains for the rest o' time. That's the manoeuvre we'reout to prevent. We've got to beat the Germans, but it's the workersthat has the right to judge when the enemy's beaten and not thecawpitalists. What do you say, Mr Brand?'

Mr Norie had obviously pinned his colours to the fence, but he gave methe chance I had been looking for. I let them have my views with avengeance, and these views were that for the sake of democracy the warmust be ended. I flatter myself I put my case well, for I had got upevery rotten argument and I borrowed largely from Launcelot Wake'sarmoury. But I didn't put it too well, for I had a very exact notion ofthe impression I wanted to produce. I must seem to be honest and inearnest, just a bit of a fanatic, but principally a hard-headedbusinessman who knew when the time had come to make a deal. Tombs keptinterrupting me with imbecile questions, and I had to sit on him. Atthe end Mr Norie hammered with his pipe on the table. 

'That'll sort ye, Andra. Ye're entertain' an angel unawares. What do yesay to that, my man?'

Mr Amos shook his head. 'I'll no deny there's something in it, but I'mnot convinced that the Germans have got enough of a wheepin'. ' Macnabagreed with him; the others were with me. Norie was for getting me towrite an article for his paper, and the consumptive wanted me toaddress a meeting. 

'Wull ye say a' that over again the morn's night down at our hall inNewmilns Street? We've got a lodge meeting o' the I. W. B. , and I'll makethem pit ye in the programme. ' He kept his luminous eyes, like a sickdog's, fixed on me, and I saw that I had made one ally. I told him Ihad come to Glasgow to learn and not to teach, but I would miss nochance of testifying to my faith. 

'Now, boys, I'm for my bed, ' said Amos, shaking the dottle from hispipe. 'Mr Tombs, I'll conduct ye the morn over the Brigend works, butI've had enough clavers for one evening. I'm a man that wants his eighthours' sleep. '

The old fellow saw them to the door, and came back to me with the ghostof a grin in his face. 

'A queer crowd, Mr Brand! Macnab didna like what ye said. He had aladdie killed in Gallypoly, and he's no lookin' for peace this side thegrave. He's my best friend in Glasgow. He's an elder in the Gaelic kirkin the Cowcaddens, and I'm what ye call a free-thinker, but we'rewonderful agreed on the fundamentals. Ye spoke your bit verra well, Imust admit. Gresson will hear tell of ye as a promising recruit. '

'It's a rotten job, ' I said. 

'Ay, it's a rotten job. I often feel like vomiting over it mysel'. Butit's no for us to complain. There's waur jobs oot in France for bettermen ... A word in your ear, Mr Brand. Could ye not look a bit moresheepish? Ye stare folk ower straight in the een, like a Hielandsergeant-major up at Maryhill Barracks. ' And he winked slowly andgrotesquely with his left eye. 

He marched to a cupboard and produced a black bottle and glass. 'I'mblue-ribbon myself, but ye'll be the better of something to tak thetaste out of your mouth. There's Loch Katrine water at the pipe there... As I was saying, there's not much ill in that lot. Tombs is a blackoffence, but a dominie's a dominie all the world over. They may crackabout their Industrial Workers and the braw things they're going to do, but there's a wholesome dampness about the tinder on Clydeside. Theyshould try Ireland. '

Supposing, ' I said, 'there was a really clever man who wanted to helpthe enemy. You think he could do little good by stirring up trouble inthe shops here?'

'I'm positive. '

'And if he were a shrewd fellow, he'd soon tumble to that?'

'Ay. '

'Then if he still stayed on here he would be after biggergame--something really dangerous and damnable?'

Amos drew down his brows and looked me in the face. 'I see what ye'reettlin' at. Ay! That would be my conclusion. I came to it weeks syneabout the man ye'll maybe meet the morn's night. '

Then from below the bed he pulled a box from which he drew a handsomeflute. 'Ye'll forgive me, Mr Brand, but I aye like a tune before I goto my bed. Macnab says his prayers, and I have a tune on the flute, andthe principle is just the same. '

So that singular evening closed with music--very sweet and truerenderings of old Border melodies like 'My Peggy is a young thing', and'When the kye come hame'. I fell asleep with a vision of Amos, his faceall puckered up at the mouth and a wandering sentiment in his eye, recapturing in his dingy world the emotions of a boy. 

 * * * * *

The widow-woman from next door, who acted as house-keeper, cook, andgeneral factotum to the establishment, brought me shaving water nextmorning, but I had to go without a bath. When I entered the kitchen Ifound no one there, but while I consumed the inevitable ham and egg, Amos arrived back for breakfast. He brought with him the morning'spaper. 

'The _Herald_ says there's been a big battle at Eepers, ' he announced. 

I tore open the sheet and read of the great attack of 31 July which wasspoiled by the weather. 'My God!' I cried. 'They've got St Julien andthat dirty Frezenberg ridge ... And Hooge ... And Sanctuary Wood. Iknow every inch of the damned place.... '

'Mr Brand, ' said a warning voice, 'that'll never do. If our friendslast night heard ye talk like that ye might as well tak the train backto London ... They're speakin' about ye in the yards this morning. Ye'll get a good turnout at your meeting the night, but they're Sayin'that the polis will interfere. That mightna be a bad thing, but I trustye to show discretion, for ye'll not be muckle use to onybody if theyjyle ye in Duke Street. I hear Gresson will be there with a fraternalmessage from his lunatics in America ... I've arranged that ye go downto Tam Norie this afternoon and give him a hand with his bit paper. Tamwill tell ye the whole clash o' the West country, and I look to ye tokeep him off the drink. He's aye arguin' that writin' and drinkin' gangthegither, and quotin' Robert Burns, but the creature has a wife andfive bairns dependin' on him. '

I spent a fantastic day. For two hours I sat in Norie's dirty den, while he smoked and orated, and, when he remembered his business, tookdown in shorthand my impressions of the Labour situation in SouthAfrica for his rag. They were fine breezy impressions, based on themost whole-hearted ignorance, and if they ever reached the Rand Iwonder what my friends there made of Cornelius Brand, their author. Istood him dinner in an indifferent eating-house in a street off theBroomielaw, and thereafter had a drink with him in a public-house, andwas introduced to some of his less reputable friends. 

About tea-time I went back to Amos's lodgings, and spent an hour or sowriting a long letter to Mr Ivery. I described to him everybody I hadmet, I gave highly coloured views of the explosive material on theClyde, and I deplored the lack of clearheadedness in the progressiveforces. I drew an elaborate picture of Amos, and deduced from it thatthe Radicals were likely to be a bar to true progress. 'They haveswitched their old militancy, ' I wrote, 'on to another track, for withthem it is a matter of conscience to be always militant. ' I finished upwith some very crude remarks on economics culled from the table-talk ofthe egregious Tombs. It was the kind of letter which I hoped wouldestablish my character in his mind as an industrious innocent. 

Seven o'clock found me in Newmilns Street, where I was seized upon byWilkie. He had put on a clean collar for the occasion and had partiallywashed his thin face. The poor fellow had a cough that shook him likethe walls of a power-house when the dynamos are going. 

He was very apologetic about Amos. 'Andra belongs to a past worrld, ' hesaid. 'He has a big reputation in his society, and he's a fine fighter, but he has no kind of Vision, if ye understand me. He's an auldGladstonian, and that's done and damned in Scotland. He's not a Modern, Mr Brand, like you and me. But tonight ye'll meet one or two chapsthat'll be worth your while to ken. Ye'll maybe no go quite as far asthem, but ye're on the same road. I'm hoping for the day when we'llhave oor Councils of Workmen and Soldiers like the Russians all overthe land and dictate our terms to the pawrasites in Pawrliament. Theytell me, too, the boys in the trenches are comin' round to our side. '

We entered the hall by a back door, and in a little waiting-room I wasintroduced to some of the speakers. They were a scratch lot as seen inthat dingy place. The chairman was a shop-steward in one of theSocieties, a fierce little rat of a man, who spoke with a cockneyaccent and addressed me as 'Comrade'. But one of them roused myliveliest interest. I heard the name of Gresson, and turned to find afellow of about thirty-five, rather sprucely dressed, with a flower inhis buttonhole. 'Mr Brand, ' he said, in a rich American voice whichrecalled Blenkiron's. 'Very pleased to meet you, sir. We have Come fromremote parts of the globe to be present at this gathering. ' I noticedthat he had reddish hair, and small bright eyes, and a nose with adroop like a Polish Jew's. 

As soon as we reached the platform I saw that there was going to betrouble. The hall was packed to the door, and in all the front halfthere was the kind of audience I expected to see--working-men of thepolitical type who before the war would have thronged to partymeetings. But not all the crowd at the back had come to listen. Somewere scallawags, some looked like better-class clerks out for a spree, and there was a fair quantity of khaki. There were also one or twogentlemen not strictly sober. 

The chairman began by putting his foot in it. He said we were theretonight to protest against the continuation of the war and to form abranch of the new British Council of Workmen and Soldiers. He told themwith a fine mixture of metaphors that we had got to take the reins intoour own hands, for the men who were running the war had their own axesto grind and were marching to oligarchy through the blood of theworkers. He added that we had no quarrel with Germany half as bad as wehad with our own capitalists. He looked forward to the day when Britishsoldiers would leap from their trenches and extend the hand offriendship to their German comrades. 

'No me!' said a solemn voice. 'I'm not seekin' a bullet in mywame, '--at which there was laughter and cat-calls. 

Tombs followed and made a worse hash of it. He was determined to speak, as he would have put it, to democracy in its own language, so he said'hell' several times, loudly but without conviction. Presently heslipped into the manner of the lecturer, and the audience grewrestless. 'I propose to ask myself a question--' he began, and from theback of the hall came--'And a damned sully answer ye'll get. ' Afterthat there was no more Tombs. 

I followed with extreme nervousness, and to my surprise got a fairhearing. I felt as mean as a mangy dog on a cold morning, for I hatedto talk rot before soldiers--especially before a couple of Royal ScotsFusiliers, who, for all I knew, might have been in my own brigade. Myline was the plain, practical, patriotic man, just come from thecolonies, who looked at things with fresh eyes, and called for a newdeal. I was very moderate, but to justify my appearance there I had toput in a wild patch or two, and I got these by impassioned attacks onthe Ministry of Munitions. I mixed up a little mild praise of theGermans, whom I said I had known all over the world for decent fellows. I received little applause, but no marked dissent, and sat down withdeep thankfulness. 

The next speaker put the lid on it. I believe he was a noted agitator, who had already been deported. Towards him there was no lukewarmness, for one half of the audience cheered wildly when he rose, and the otherhalf hissed and groaned. He began with whirlwind abuse of the idlerich, then of the middle-classes (he called them the 'rich man'sflunkeys'), and finally of the Government. All that was fairly wellreceived, for it is the fashion of the Briton to run down everyGovernment and yet to be very averse to parting from it. Then hestarted on the soldiers and slanged the officers ('gentry pups' was hisname for them), and the generals, whom he accused of idleness, ofcowardice, and of habitual intoxication. He told us that our own kithand kin were sacrificed in every battle by leaders who had not the gutsto share their risks. The Scots Fusiliers looked perturbed, as if theywere in doubt of his meaning. Then he put it more plainly. 'Will anysoldier deny that the men are the barrage to keep the officers' skinswhole?'

'That's a bloody lee, ' said one of the Fusilier jocks. 

The man took no notice of the interruption, being carried away by thetorrent of his own rhetoric, but he had not allowed for the persistenceof the interrupter. The jock got slowly to his feet, and announced thathe wanted satisfaction. 'If ye open your dirty gab to blagyird honestmen, I'll come up on the platform and wring your neck. '

At that there was a fine old row, some crying out 'Order', some 'Fairplay', and some applauding. A Canadian at the back of the hall starteda song, and there was an ugly press forward. The hall seemed to bemoving up from the back, and already men were standing in all thepassages and right to the edge of the platform. I did not like the lookin the eyes of these new-comers, and among the crowd I saw several whowere obviously plain-clothes policemen. 

The chairman whispered a word to the speaker, who continued when thenoise had temporarily died down. He kept off the army and returned tothe Government, and for a little sluiced out pure anarchism. But he gothis foot in it again, for he pointed to the Sinn Feiners as examples ofmanly independence. At that, pandemonium broke loose, and he never hadanother look in. There were several fights going on in the hall betweenthe public and courageous supporters of the orator. 

Then Gresson advanced to the edge of the platform in a vain endeavourto retrieve the day. I must say he did it uncommonly well. He wasclearly a practised speaker, and for a moment his appeal 'Now, boys, let's cool down a bit and talk sense, ' had an effect. But the mischiefhad been done, and the crowd was surging round the lonely redoubt wherewe sat. Besides, I could see that for all his clever talk the meetingdid not like the look of him. He was as mild as a turtle dove, but theywouldn't stand for it. A missile hurtled past my nose, and I saw arotten cabbage envelop the baldish head of the ex-deportee. Someonereached out a long arm and grabbed a chair, and with it took the legsfrom Gresson. Then the lights suddenly went out, and we retreated ingood order by the platform door with a yelling crowd at our heels. 

It was here that the plain-clothes men came in handy. They held thedoor while the ex-deportee was smuggled out by some side entrance. Thatclass of lad would soon cease to exist but for the protection of thelaw which he would abolish. The rest of us, having less to fear, weresuffered to leak into Newmilns Street. I found myself next to Gresson, and took his arm. There was something hard in his coat pocket. 

Unfortunately there was a big lamp at the point where we emerged, andthere for our confusion were the Fusilier jocks. Both were strung tofighting pitch, and were determined to have someone's blood. Of me theytook no notice, but Gresson had spoken after their ire had been roused, and was marked out as a victim. With a howl of joy they rushed for him. 

I felt his hand steal to his side-pocket. 'Let that alone, you fool, ' Igrowled in his ear. 

'Sure, mister, ' he said, and the next second we were in the thick of it. 

It was like so many street fights I have seen--an immense crowd whichsurged up around us, and yet left a clear ring. Gresson and I gotagainst the wall on the side-walk, and faced the furious soldiery. Myintention was to do as little as possible, but the first minuteconvinced me that my companion had no idea how to use his fists, and Iwas mortally afraid that he would get busy with the gun in his pocket. It was that fear that brought me into the scrap. The jocks weresportsmen every bit of them, and only one advanced to the combat. Hehit Gresson a clip on the jaw with his left, and but for the wall wouldhave laid him out. I saw in the lamplight the vicious gleam in theAmerican's eye and the twitch of his hand to his pocket. That decidedme to interfere and I got in front of him. 

This brought the second jock into the fray. He was a broad, thicksetfellow, of the adorable bandy-legged stocky type that I had seen gothrough the Railway Triangle at Arras as though it were blotting-paper. He had some notion of fighting, too, and gave me a rough time, for Ihad to keep edging the other fellow off Gresson. 

'Go home, you fool, ' I shouted. 'Let this gentleman alone. I don't wantto hurt you. '

The only answer was a hook-hit which I just managed to guard, followedby a mighty drive with his right which I dodged so that he barked hisknuckles on the wall. I heard a yell of rage, and observed that Gressonseemed to have kicked his assailant on the shin. I began to long forthe police. 

Then there was that swaying of the crowd which betokens the approach ofthe forces of law and order. But they were too late to prevent trouble. In self-defence I had to take my jock seriously, and got in my blowwhen he had overreached himself and lost his balance. I never hitanyone so unwillingly in my life. He went over like a poled ox, andmeasured his length on the causeway. 

I found myself explaining things politely to the constables. 'These menobjected to this gentleman's speech at the meeting, and I had tointerfere to protect him. No, no! I don't want to charge anybody. Itwas all a misunderstanding. ' I helped the stricken jock to rise andoffered him ten bob for consolation. 

He looked at me sullenly and spat on the ground. 'Keep your dirtymoney, ' he said. 'I'll be even with ye yet, my man--you and thatred-headed scab. I'll mind the looks of ye the next time I see ye. '

Gresson was wiping the blood from his cheek with a silk handkerchief. 'I guess I'm in your debt, Mr Brand, ' he said. 'You may bet I won'tforget it. '

 * * * * *

I returned to an anxious Amos. He heard my story in silence and hisonly comment was--'Well done the Fusiliers!'

'It might have been worse, I'll not deny, ' he went on. 'Ye'veestablished some kind of a claim upon Gresson, which may come in handy... Speaking about Gresson, I've news for ye. He's sailing on Friday aspurser in the _Tobermory_. The _Tobermory's_ a boat that wanders everymonth up the West Highlands as far as Stornoway. I've arranged for yeto take a trip on that boat, Mr Brand. '

I nodded. 'How did you find out that?' I asked. 

'It took me some finding, ' he said dryly, 'but I've ways and means. NowI'll not trouble ye with advice, for ye ken your job as well as me. ButI'm going north myself the morn to look after some of the Ross-shirewuds, and I'll be in the way of getting telegrams at the Kyle. Ye'llkeep that in mind. Keep in mind, too, that I'm a great reader of the_Pilgrim's Progress_ and that I've a cousin of the name of Ochterlony. '

CHAPTER FIVE

Various Doings in the West

The _Tobermory_ was no ship for passengers. Its decks were litteredwith a hundred oddments, so that a man could barely walk a step withouttacking, and my bunk was simply a shelf in the frowsty little saloon, where the odour of ham and eggs hung like a fog. I joined her atGreenock and took a turn on deck with the captain after tea, when hetold me the names of the big blue hills to the north. He had a fine oldcopper-coloured face and side-whiskers like an archbishop, and, havingspent all his days beating up the western seas, had as many yarns inhis head as Peter himself. 

'On this boat, ' he announced, 'we don't ken what a day may bring forth. I may put into Colonsay for twa hours and bide there three days. I geta telegram at Oban and the next thing I'm awa ayont Barra. Sheep's thedifficult business. They maun be fetched for the sales, and they'redooms slow to lift. So ye see it's not what ye call a pleasure trip, Maister Brand. '

Indeed it wasn't, for the confounded tub wallowed like a fat sow assoon as we rounded a headland and got the weight of the south-westernwind. When asked my purpose, I explained that I was a colonial of Scotsextraction, who was paying his first visit to his fatherland and wantedto explore the beauties of the West Highlands. I let him gather that Iwas not rich in this world's goods. 

'Ye'll have a passport?' he asked. 'They'll no let ye go north o' FortWilliam without one. '

Amos had said nothing about passports, so I looked blank. 

'I could keep ye on board for the whole voyage, ' he went on, 'but yewouldna be permitted to land. If ye're seekin' enjoyment, it would be apoor job sittin' on this deck and admirin' the works o' God and noallowed to step on the pier-head. Ye should have applied to themilitary gentlemen in Glesca. But ye've plenty o' time to make up yourmind afore we get to Oban. We've a heap o' calls to make Mull and Islayway. '

The purser came up to inquire about my ticket, and greeted me with agrin. 

'Ye're acquaint with Mr Gresson, then?' said the captain. 'Weel, we'rea cheery wee ship's company, and that's the great thing on this kind o'job. '

I made but a poor supper, for the wind had risen to half a gale, and Isaw hours of wretchedness approaching. The trouble with me is that Icannot be honestly sick and get it over. Queasiness and headache besetme and there is no refuge but bed. I turned into my bunk, leaving thecaptain and the mate smoking shag not six feet from my head, and fellinto a restless sleep. When I woke the place was empty, and smeltvilely of stale tobacco and cheese. My throbbing brows made sleepimpossible, and I tried to ease them by staggering upon deck. I saw aclear windy sky, with every star as bright as a live coal, and aheaving waste of dark waters running to ink-black hills. Then a doucheof spray caught me and sent me down the companion to my bunk again, where I lay for hours trying to make a plan of campaign. 

I argued that if Amos had wanted me to have a passport he would haveprovided one, so I needn't bother my head about that. But it was mybusiness to keep alongside Gresson, and if the boat stayed a week insome port and he went off ashore, I must follow him. Having no passportI would have to be always dodging trouble, which would handicap mymovements and in all likelihood make me more conspicuous than I wanted. I guessed that Amos had denied me the passport for the very reason thathe wanted Gresson to think me harmless. The area of danger would, therefore, be the passport country, somewhere north of Fort William. 

But to follow Gresson I must run risks and enter that country. Hissuspicions, if he had any, would be lulled if I left the boat at Oban, but it was up to me to follow overland to the north and hit the placewhere the _Tobermory_ made a long stay. The confounded tub had noplans; she wandered about the West Highlands looking for sheep andthings; and the captain himself could give me no time-table of hervoyage. It was incredible that Gresson should take all this trouble ifhe did not know that at some place--and the right place--he would havetime to get a spell ashore. But I could scarcely ask Gresson for thatinformation, though I determined to cast a wary fly over him. I knewroughly the _Tobermory's_ course--through the Sound of Islay toColonsay; then up the east side of Mull to Oban; then through the Soundof Mull to the islands with names like cocktails, Rum and Eigg andColl; then to Skye; and then for the Outer Hebrides. I thought the lastwould be the place, and it seemed madness to leave the boat, for theLord knew how I should get across the Minch. This consideration upsetall my plans again, and I fell into a troubled sleep without coming toany conclusion. 

Morning found us nosing between Jura and Islay, and about midday wetouched at a little port, where we unloaded some cargo and took on acouple of shepherds who were going to Colonsay. The mellow afternoonand the good smell of salt and heather got rid of the dregs of myqueasiness, and I spent a profitable hour on the pier-head with aguide-book called _Baddely's Scotland_, and one of Bartholomew's maps. I was beginning to think that Amos might be able to tell me something, for a talk with the captain had suggested that the _Tobermory_ wouldnot dally long in the neighbourhood of Rum and Eigg. The big drovingseason was scarcely on yet, and sheep for the Oban market would belifted on the return journey. In that case Skye was the first place towatch, and if I could get wind of any big cargo waiting there I wouldbe able to make a plan. Amos was somewhere near the Kyle, and that wasacross the narrows from Skye. Looking at the map, it seemed to me that, in spite of being passportless, I might be able somehow to make my wayup through Morvern and Arisaig to the latitude of Skye. The difficultywould be to get across the strip of sea, but there must be boats tobeg, borrow or steal. 

I was poring over Baddely when Gresson sat down beside me. He was in agood temper, and disposed to talk, and to my surprise his talk was allabout the beauties of the countryside. There was a kind of apple-greenlight over everything; the steep heather hills cut into the sky likepurple amethysts, while beyond the straits the western ocean stretchedits pale molten gold to the sunset. Gresson waxed lyrical over thescene. 'This just about puts me right inside, Mr Brand. I've got to getaway from that little old town pretty frequent or I begin to moult likea canary. A man feels a man when he gets to a place that smells as goodas this. Why in hell do we ever get messed up in those stone and limecages? I reckon some day I'll pull my freight for a clean location andsettle down there and make little poems. This place would about contentme. And there's a spot out in California in the Coast ranges that I'vebeen keeping my eye on, ' The odd thing was that I believe he meant it. His ugly face was lit up with a serious delight. 

He told me he had taken this voyage before, so I got out Baddely andasked for advice. 'I can't spend too much time on holidaying, ' I toldhim, 'and I want to see all the beauty spots. But the best of them seemto be in the area that this fool British Government won't let you intowithout a passport. I suppose I shall have to leave you at Oban. '

'Too bad, ' he said sympathetically. 'Well, they tell me there's somepretty sights round Oban. ' And he thumbed the guide-book and began toread about Glencoe. 

I said that was not my purpose, and pitched him a yarn about PrinceCharlie and how my mother's great-grandfather had played some kind ofpart in that show. I told him I wanted to see the place where thePrince landed and where he left for France. 'So far as I can make outthat won't take me into the passport country, but I'll have to do a bitof footslogging. Well, I'm used to padding the hoof. I must get thecaptain to put me off in Morvern, and then I can foot it round the topof Lochiel and get back to Oban through Appin. How's that for a holidaytrek?'

He gave the scheme his approval. 'But if it was me, Mr Brand, I wouldhave a shot at puzzling your gallant policemen. You and I don't takemuch stock in Governments and their two-cent laws, and it would be agood game to see just how far you could get into the forbidden land. Aman like you could put up a good bluff on those hayseeds. I don't mindhaving a bet ... '

'No, ' I said. 'I'm out for a rest, and not for sport. If there wasanything to be gained I'd undertake to bluff my way to the OrkneyIslands. But it's a wearing job and I've better things to think about. '

'So? Well, enjoy yourself your own way. I'll be sorry when you leaveus, for I owe you something for that rough-house, and beside there'sdarned little company in the old moss-back captain. '

That evening Gresson and I swopped yarns after supper to theaccompaniment of the 'Ma Goad!' and 'Is't possible?' of captain andmate. I went to bed after a glass or two of weak grog, and made up forthe last night's vigil by falling sound asleep. I had very little kitwith me, beyond what I stood up in and could carry in my waterproofpockets, but on Amos's advice I had brought my little nickel-platedrevolver. This lived by day in my hip pocket, but at night I put itbehind my pillow. But when I woke next morning to find us castinganchor in the bay below rough low hills, which I knew to be the islandof Colonsay, I could find no trace of the revolver. I searched everyinch of the bunk and only shook out feathers from the mouldy ticking. Iremembered perfectly putting the thing behind my head before I went tosleep, and now it had vanished utterly. Of course I could not advertisemy loss, and I didn't greatly mind it, for this was not a job where Icould do much shooting. But it made me think a good deal about MrGresson. He simply could not suspect me; if he had bagged my gun, as Iwas pretty certain he had, it must be because he wanted it for himselfand not that he might disarm me. Every way I argued it I reached thesame conclusion. In Gresson's eyes I must seem as harmless as a child. 

We spent the better part of a day at Colonsay, and Gresson, so far ashis duties allowed, stuck to me like a limpet. Before I went ashore Iwrote out a telegram for Amos. I devoted a hectic hour to the_Pilgrim's Progress_, but I could not compose any kind of intelligiblemessage with reference to its text. We had all the same edition--theone in the _Golden Treasury_ series--so I could have made up a sort ofcipher by referring to lines and pages, but that would have taken up adozen telegraph forms and seemed to me too elaborate for the purpose. So I sent this message:

 _Ochterlony, Post Office, Kyle, I hope to spend part of holiday near you and to see you if boat's programme permits. Are any good cargoes waiting in your neighbourhood? Reply Post Office, Oban. _

It was highly important that Gresson should not see this, but it wasthe deuce of a business to shake him off. I went for a walk in theafternoon along the shore and passed the telegraph office, but theconfounded fellow was with me all the time. My only chance was justbefore we sailed, when he had to go on board to check some cargo. Asthe telegraph office stood full in view of the ship's deck I did not gonear it. But in the back end of the clachan I found the schoolmaster, and got him to promise to send the wire. I also bought off him a coupleof well-worn sevenpenny novels. 

The result was that I delayed our departure for ten minutes and when Icame on board faced a wrathful Gresson. 'Where the hell have you been?'he asked. 'The weather's blowing up dirty and the old man's mad to getoff. Didn't you get your legs stretched enough this afternoon?'

I explained humbly that I had been to the schoolmaster to get somethingto read, and produced my dingy red volumes. At that his brow cleared. Icould see that his suspicions were set at rest. 

We left Colonsay about six in the evening with the sky behind usbanking for a storm, and the hills of Jura to starboard an angrypurple. Colonsay was too low an island to be any kind of breakwateragainst a western gale, so the weather was bad from the start. Ourcourse was north by east, and when we had passed the butt-end of theisland we nosed about in the trough of big seas, shipping tons of waterand rolling like a buffalo. I know as much about boats as aboutEgyptian hieroglyphics, but even my landsman's eyes could tell that wewere in for a rough night. I was determined not to get queasy again, but when I went below the smell of tripe and onions promised to be myundoing; so I dined off a slab of chocolate and a cabin biscuit, put onmy waterproof, and resolved to stick it out on deck. 

I took up position near the bows, where I was out of reach of the oilysteamer smells. It was as fresh as the top of a mountain, but mightycold and wet, for a gusty drizzle had set in, and I got the spindriftof the big waves. There I balanced myself, as we lurched into thetwilight, hanging on with one hand to a rope which descended from thestumpy mast. I noticed that there was only an indifferent rail betweenme and the edge, but that interested me and helped to keep offsickness. I swung to the movement of the vessel, and though I wasmortally cold it was rather pleasant than otherwise. My notion was toget the nausea whipped out of me by the weather, and, when I wasproperly tired, to go down and turn in. 

I stood there till the dark had fallen. By that time I was anautomaton, the way a man gets on sentry-go, and I could have easilyhung on till morning. My thoughts ranged about the earth, beginningwith the business I had set out on, and presently--by way ofrecollections of Blenkiron and Peter--reaching the German forest where, in the Christmas of 1915, I had been nearly done in by fever and oldStumm. I remembered the bitter cold of that wild race, and the way thesnow seemed to burn like fire when I stumbled and got my face into it. I reflected that sea-sickness was kitten's play to a good bout ofmalaria. 

The weather was growing worse, and I was getting more than spindriftfrom the seas. I hooked my arm round the rope, for my fingers werenumbing. Then I fell to dreaming again, principally about Fosse Manorand Mary Lamington. This so ravished me that I was as good as asleep. Iwas trying to reconstruct the picture as I had last seen her atBiggleswick station ... 

A heavy body collided with me and shook my arm from the rope. Islithered across the yard of deck, engulfed in a whirl of water. Onefoot caught a stanchion of the rail, and it gave with me, so that foran instant I was more than half overboard. But my fingers clawed wildlyand caught in the links of what must have been the anchor chain. Theyheld, though a ton's weight seemed to be tugging at my feet ... Thenthe old tub rolled back, the waters slipped off, and I was sprawling ona wet deck with no breath in me and a gallon of brine in my windpipe. 

I heard a voice cry out sharply, and a hand helped me to my feet. Itwas Gresson, and he seemed excited. 

'God, Mr Brand, that was a close call! I was coming up to find you, when this damned ship took to lying on her side. I guess I must havecannoned into you, and I was calling myself bad names when I saw yourolling into the Atlantic. If I hadn't got a grip on the rope I wouldhave been down beside you. Say, you're not hurt? I reckon you'd bettercome below and get a glass of rum under your belt. You're about as wetas mother's dish-clouts. '

There's one advantage about campaigning. You take your luck when itcomes and don't worry about what might have been. I didn't think anymore of the business, except that it had cured me of wanting to besea-sick. I went down to the reeking cabin without one qualm in mystomach, and ate a good meal of welsh-rabbit and bottled Bass, with atot of rum to follow up with. Then I shed my wet garments, and slept inmy bunk till we anchored off a village in Mull in a clear blue morning. 

It took us four days to crawl up that coast and make Oban, for weseemed to be a floating general store for every hamlet in those parts. Gresson made himself very pleasant, as if he wanted to atone for nearlydoing me in. We played some poker, and I read the little books I hadgot in Colonsay, and then rigged up a fishing-line, and caught saitheand lythe and an occasional big haddock. But I found the time passslowly, and I was glad that about noon one day we came into a bayblocked with islands and saw a clean little town sitting on the hillsand the smoke of a railway engine. 

I went ashore and purchased a better brand of hat in a tweed store. Then I made a bee-line for the post office, and asked for telegrams. One was given to me, and as I opened it I saw Gresson at my elbow. 

It read thus:

 _Brand, Post office, Oban. Page 117, paragraph 3. Ochterlony. _

I passed it to Gresson with a rueful face. 

'There's a piece of foolishness, ' I said. 'I've got a cousin who's aPresbyterian minister up in Ross-shire, and before I knew about thispassport humbug I wrote to him and offered to pay him a visit. I toldhim to wire me here if it was convenient, and the old idiot has sent methe wrong telegram. This was likely as not meant for some other brotherparson, who's got my message instead. '

'What's the guy's name?' Gresson asked curiously, peering at thesignature. 

'Ochterlony. David Ochterlony. He's a great swell at writing books, buthe's no earthly use at handling the telegraph. However, it don'tsignify, seeing I'm not going near him. ' I crumpled up the pink formand tossed it on the floor. Gresson and I walked to the _Tobermory_together. 

That afternoon, when I got a chance, I had out my _Pilgrim's Progress_. Page 117, paragraph 3, read:

 '_Then I saw in my dream, that a little off the road, over against the Silver-mine, stood Demas (gentlemanlike) to call to passengers to come and see: who said to Christian and his fellow, Ho, turn aside hither and I will show you a thing. _

At tea I led the talk to my own past life. I yarned about myexperiences as a mining engineer, and said I could never get out of thetrick of looking at country with the eye of the prospector. 'Forinstance, ' I said, 'if this had been Rhodesia, I would have said therewas a good chance of copper in these little kopjes above the town. They're not unlike the hills round the Messina mine. ' I told thecaptain that after the war I was thinking of turning my attention tothe West Highlands and looking out for minerals. 

'Ye'll make nothing of it, ' said the captain. 'The costs are ower big, even if ye found the minerals, for ye'd have to import a' your labour. The West Hielandman is no fond o' hard work. Ye ken the psalm o' thecrofter?

 _O that the peats would cut themselves, The fish chump on the shore, And that I in my bed might lie Henceforth for ever more!_'

'Has it ever been tried?' I asked. 

'Often. There's marble and slate quarries, and there was word o' coalin Benbecula. And there's the iron mines at Ranna. '

'Where's that?' I asked. 

'Up forenent Skye. We call in there, and generally bide a bit. There'sa heap of cargo for Ranna, and we usually get a good load back. But asI tell ye, there's few Hielanders working there. Mostly Irish and ladsfrae Fife and Falkirk way. '

I didn't pursue the subject, for I had found Demas's silver-mine. Ifthe _Tobermory_ lay at Ranna for a week, Gresson would have time to dohis own private business. Ranna would not be the spot, for the islandwas bare to the world in the middle of a much-frequented channel. ButSkye was just across the way, and when I looked in my map at its big, wandering peninsulas I concluded that my guess had been right, and thatSkye was the place to make for. 

That night I sat on deck with Gresson, and in a wonderful starrysilence we watched the lights die out of the houses in the town, andtalked of a thousand things. I noticed--what I had had a hint ofbefore--that my companion was no common man. There were moments when heforgot himself and talked like an educated gentleman: then he wouldremember, and relapse into the lingo of Leadville, Colorado. In mycharacter of the ingenuous inquirer I set him posers about politics andeconomics, the kind of thing I might have been supposed to pick up fromunintelligent browsing among little books. Generally he answered withsome slangy catchword, but occasionally he was interested beyond hisdiscretion, and treated me to a harangue like an equal. I discoveredanother thing, that he had a craze for poetry, and a capacious memoryfor it. I forgot how we drifted into the subject, but I remember hequoted some queer haunting stuff which he said was Swinburne, andverses by people I had heard of from Letchford at Biggleswick. Then hesaw by my silence that he had gone too far, and fell back into thejargon of the West. He wanted to know about my plans, and we went downinto the cabin and had a look at the map. I explained my route, upMorvern and round the head of Lochiel, and back to Oban by the eastside of Loch Linnhe. 

'Got you, ' he said. 'You've a hell of a walk before you. That bug neverbit me, and I guess I'm not envying you any. And after that, Mr Brand?'

'Back to Glasgow to do some work for the cause, ' I said lightly. 

'Just so, ' he said with a grin. 'It's a great life if you don't weaken. '

We steamed out of the bay next morning at dawn, and about nine o'clockI got on shore at a little place called Lochaline. My kit was all on myperson, and my waterproof's pockets were stuffed with chocolates andbiscuits I had bought in Oban. The captain was discouraging. 'Ye'll getyour bellyful o' Hieland hills, Mr Brand, afore ye win round the lochhead. Ye'll be wishin' yerself back on the _Tobermory_. ' But Gressonspeeded me joyfully on my way, and said he wished he were coming withme. He even accompanied me the first hundred yards, and waved his hatafter me till I was round the turn of the road. 

The first stage in that journey was pure delight. I was thankful to berid of the infernal boat, and the hot summer scents coming down theglen were comforting after the cold, salt smell of the sea. The roadlay up the side of a small bay, at the top of which a big white housestood among gardens. Presently I had left the coast and was in a glenwhere a brown salmon-river swirled through acres of bog-myrtle. It hadits source in a loch, from which the mountain rose steeply--a place soglassy in that August forenoon that every scar and wrinkle of thehillside were faithfully reflected. After that I crossed a low pass tothe head of another sea-lock, and, following the map, struck over theshoulder of a great hill and ate my luncheon far up on its side, with awonderful vista of wood and water below me. 

All that morning I was very happy, not thinking about Gresson or Ivery, but getting my mind clear in those wide spaces, and my lungs filledwith the brisk hill air. But I noticed one curious thing. On my lastvisit to Scotland, when I covered more moorland miles a day than anyman since Claverhouse, I had been fascinated by the land, and hadpleased myself with plans for settling down in it. But now, after threeyears of war and general rocketing, I felt less drawn to that kind oflandscape. I wanted something more green and peaceful and habitable, and it was to the Cotswolds that my memory turned with longing. 

I puzzled over this till I realized that in all my Cotswold pictures afigure kept going and coming--a young girl with a cloud of gold hairand the strong, slim grace of a boy, who had sung 'Cherry Ripe' in amoonlit garden. Up on that hillside I understood very clearly that I, who had been as careless of women as any monk, had fallen wildly inlove with a child of half my age. I was loath to admit it, though forweeks the conclusion had been forcing itself on me. Not that I didn'trevel in my madness, but that it seemed too hopeless a business, and Ihad no use for barren philandering. But, seated on a rock munchingchocolate and biscuits, I faced up to the fact and resolved to trust myluck. After all we were comrades in a big job, and it was up to me tobe man enough to win her. The thought seemed to brace any courage thatwas in me. No task seemed too hard with her approval to gain and hercompanionship somewhere at the back of it. I sat for a long time in ahappy dream, remembering all the glimpses I had had of her, and hummingher song to an audience of one black-faced sheep. 

On the highroad half a mile below me, I saw a figure on a bicyclemounting the hill, and then getting off to mop its face at the summit. I turned my Ziess glasses on to it, and observed that it was a countrypoliceman. It caught sight of me, stared for a bit, tucked its machineinto the side of the road, and then very slowly began to climb thehillside. Once it stopped, waved its hand and shouted something which Icould not hear. I sat finishing my luncheon, till the features wererevealed to me of a fat oldish man, blowing like a grampus, his capwell on the back of a bald head, and his trousers tied about the shinswith string. 

There was a spring beside me and I had out my flask to round off mymeal. 

'Have a drink, ' I said. 

His eye brightened, and a smile overran his moist face. 

'Thank you, sir. It will be very warrm coming up the brae. '

'You oughtn't to, ' I said. 'You really oughtn't, you know. Scorching uphills and then doubling up a mountain are not good for your time oflife. '

He raised the cap of my flask in solemn salutation. 'Your very goodhealth. ' Then he smacked his lips, and had several cupfuls of waterfrom the spring. 

'You will haf come from Achranich way, maybe?' he said in his softsing-song, having at last found his breath. 

'Just so. Fine weather for the birds, if there was anybody to shootthem. '

'Ah, no. There will be few shots fired today, for there are nogentlemen left in Morvern. But I wass asking you, if you come fromAchranich, if you haf seen anybody on the road. '

From his pocket he extricated a brown envelope and a bulky telegraphform. 'Will you read it, sir, for I haf forgot my spectacles?'

It contained a description of one Brand, a South African and asuspected character, whom the police were warned to stop and return toOban. The description wasn't bad, but it lacked any one gooddistinctive detail. Clearly the policeman took me for an innocentpedestrian, probably the guest of some moorland shooting-box, with mybrown face and rough tweeds and hobnailed shoes. 

I frowned and puzzled a little. 'I did see a fellow about three milesback on the hillside. There's a public-house just where the burn comesin, and I think he was making for it. Maybe that was your man. Thiswire says "South African"; and now I remember the fellow had the lookof a colonial. '

The policeman sighed. 'No doubt it will be the man. Perhaps he will hafa pistol and will shoot. '

'Not him, ' I laughed. 'He looked a mangy sort of chap, and he'll bescared out of his senses at the sight of you. But take my advice andget somebody with you before you tackle him. You're always the betterof a witness. '

'That is so, ' he said, brightening. 'Ach, these are the bad times! inold days there wass nothing to do but watch the doors at theflower-shows and keep the yachts from poaching the sea-trout. But nowit is spies, spies, and "Donald, get out of your bed, and go off twentymile to find a German. " I wass wishing the war wass by, and the Germansall dead. '

'Hear, hear!' I cried, and on the strength of it gave him another dram. 

I accompanied him to the road, and saw him mount his bicycle andzig-zag like a snipe down the hill towards Achranich. Then I set offbriskly northward. It was clear that the faster I moved the better. 

As I went I paid disgusted tribute to the efficiency of the Scottishpolice. I wondered how on earth they had marked me down. Perhaps it wasthe Glasgow meeting, or perhaps my association with Ivery atBiggleswick. Anyhow there was somebody somewhere mighty quick atcompiling a _dossier_. Unless I wanted to be bundled back to Oban Imust make good speed to the Arisaig coast. 

Presently the road fell to a gleaming sea-loch which lay like the blueblade of a sword among the purple of the hills. At the head there was atiny clachan, nestled among birches and rowans, where a tawny burnwound to the sea. When I entered the place it was about four o'clock inthe afternoon, and peace lay on it like a garment. In the wide, sunnystreet there was no sign of life, and no sound except of hens cluckingand of bees busy among the roses. There was a little grey box of akirk, and close to the bridge a thatched cottage which bore the sign ofa post and telegraph office. 

For the past hour I had been considering that I had better prepare formishaps. If the police of these parts had been warned they might provetoo much for me, and Gresson would be allowed to make his journeyunmatched. The only thing to do was to send a wire to Amos and leavethe matter in his hands. Whether that was possible or not depended uponthis remote postal authority. 

I entered the little shop, and passed from bright sunshine to atwilight smelling of paraffin and black-striped peppermint balls. Anold woman with a mutch sat in an arm-chair behind the counter. Shelooked up at me over her spectacles and smiled, and I took to her onthe instant. She had the kind of old wise face that God loves. 

Beside her I noticed a little pile of books, one of which was a Bible. Open on her lap was a paper, the _United Free Church Monthly_. Inoticed these details greedily, for I had to make up my mind on thepart to play. 

'It's a warm day, mistress, ' I said, my voice falling into the broadLowland speech, for I had an instinct that she was not of the Highlands. 

She laid aside her paper. 'It is that, sir. It is grand weather for thehairst, but here that's no till the hinner end o' September, and at thebest it's a bit scart o' aits. '

'Ay. It's a different thing down Annandale way, ' I said. 

Her face lit up. 'Are ye from Dumfries, sir?'

'Not just from Dumfries, but I know the Borders fine. '

'Ye'll no beat them, ' she cried. 'Not that this is no a guid place andI've muckle to be thankfu' for since John Sanderson--that was maman--brought me here forty-seeven year syne come Martinmas. But theaulder I get the mair I think o' the bit whaur I was born. It was twaemiles from Wamphray on the Lockerbie road, but they tell me the placeis noo just a rickle o' stanes. '

'I was wondering, mistress, if I could get a cup of tea in the village. '

'Ye'll hae a cup wi' me, ' she said. 'It's no often we see onybody fraethe Borders hereaways. The kettle's just on the boil. '

She gave me tea and scones and butter, and black-currant jam, andtreacle biscuits that melted in the mouth. And as we ate we talked ofmany things--chiefly of the war and of the wickedness of the world. 

'There's nae lads left here, ' she said. 'They a' joined the Camerons, and the feck o' them fell at an awfu' place called Lowse. John and menever had no boys, jist the one lassie that's married on Donald Frew, the Strontian carrier. I used to vex mysel' about it, but now I thankthe Lord that in His mercy He spared me sorrow. But I wad hae liked tohave had one laddie fechtin' for his country. I whiles wish I was aCatholic and could pit up prayers for the sodgers that are deid. Itmaun be a great consolation. '

I whipped out the _Pilgrim's Progress_ from my pocket. 'That is thegrand book for a time like this. '

'Fine I ken it, ' she said. 'I got it for a prize in the Sabbath Schoolwhen I was a lassie. '

I turned the pages. I read out a passage or two, and then I seemedstruck with a sudden memory. 

'This is a telegraph office, mistress. Could I trouble you to send atelegram? You see I've a cousin that's a minister in Ross-shire at theKyle, and him and me are great correspondents. He was writing aboutsomething in the _Pilgrim's Progress_ and I think I'll send him atelegram in answer. '

'A letter would be cheaper, ' she said. 

'Ay, but I'm on holiday and I've no time for writing. '

She gave me a form, and I wrote:

 _Ochterlony. Post Office, Kyle. --Demas will be at his mine within the week. Strive with him, lest I faint by the way. _

'Ye're unco lavish wi' the words, sir, ' was her only comment. 

We parted with regret, and there was nearly a row when I tried to payfor the tea. I was bidden remember her to one David Tudhole, farmer inNether Mirecleuch, the next time I passed by Wamphray. 

The village was as quiet when I left it as when I had entered. I tookmy way up the hill with an easier mind, for I had got off the telegram, and I hoped I had covered my tracks. My friend the postmistress would, if questioned, be unlikely to recognize any South African suspect inthe frank and homely traveller who had spoken with her of Annandale andthe _Pilgrim's Progress_. 

The soft mulberry gloaming of the west coast was beginning to fall onthe hills. I hoped to put in a dozen miles before dark to the nextvillage on the map, where I might find quarters. But ere I had gone farI heard the sound of a motor behind me, and a car slipped past bearingthree men. The driver favoured me with a sharp glance, and clapped onthe brakes. I noted that the two men in the tonneau were carryingsporting rifles. 

'Hi, you, sir, ' he cried. 'Come here. ' The two rifle-bearers--solemngillies--brought their weapons to attention. 

'By God, ' he said, 'it's the man. What's your name? Keep him covered, Angus. '

The gillies duly covered me, and I did not like the look of theirwavering barrels. They were obviously as surprised as myself. 

I had about half a second to make my plans. I advanced with a verystiff air, and asked him what the devil he meant. No Lowland Scots forme now. My tone was that of an adjutant of a Guards' battalion. 

My inquisitor was a tall man in an ulster, with a green felt hat on hissmall head. He had a lean, well-bred face, and very choleric blue eyes. I set him down as a soldier, retired, Highland regiment or cavalry, oldstyle. 

He produced a telegraph form, like the policeman. 

'Middle height--strongly built--grey tweeds--brown hat--speaks with acolonial accent--much sunburnt. What's your name, sir?'

I did not reply in a colonial accent, but with the hauteur of theBritish officer when stopped by a French sentry. I asked him again whatthe devil he had to do with my business. This made him angry and hebegan to stammer. 

'I'll teach you what I have to do with it. I'm a deputy-lieutenant ofthis county, and I have Admiralty instructions to watch the coast. Damnit, sir, I've a wire here from the Chief Constable describing you. You're Brand, a very dangerous fellow, and we want to know what thedevil you're doing here. '

As I looked at his wrathful eye and lean head, which could not haveheld much brains, I saw that I must change my tone. If I irritated himhe would get nasty and refuse to listen and hang me up for hours. So myvoice became respectful. 

'I beg your pardon, sir, but I've not been accustomed to be pulled upsuddenly, and asked for my credentials. My name is Blaikie, CaptainRobert Blaikie, of the Scots Fusiliers. I'm home on three weeks' leave, to get a little peace after Hooge. We were only hauled out five daysago. ' I hoped my old friend in the shell-shock hospital at Isham wouldpardon my borrowing his identity. 

The man looked puzzled. 'How the devil am I to be satisfied about that?Have you any papers to prove it?'

'Why, no. I don't carry passports about with me on a walking tour. Butyou can wire to the depot, or to my London address. '

He pulled at his yellow moustache. 'I'm hanged if I know what to do. Iwant to get home for dinner. I tell you what, sir, I'll take you onwith me and put you up for the night. My boy's at home, convalescing, and if he says you're pukka I'll ask your pardon and give you a dashedgood bottle of port. I'll trust him and I warn you he's a keen hand. '

There was nothing to do but consent, and I got in beside him with anuneasy conscience. Supposing the son knew the real Blaikie! I asked thename of the boy's battalion, and was told the 10th Seaforths. Thatwasn't pleasant hearing, for they had been brigaded with us on theSomme. But Colonel Broadbury--for he told me his name--volunteeredanother piece of news which set my mind at rest. The boy was not yettwenty, and had only been out seven months. At Arras he had got a bitof shrapnel in his thigh, which had played the deuce with the sciaticnerve, and he was still on crutches. 

We spun over ridges of moorland, always keeping northward, and broughtup at a pleasant white-washed house close to the sea. Colonel Broadburyushered me into a hall where a small fire of peats was burning, and ona couch beside it lay a slim, pale-faced young man. He had dropped hispoliceman's manner, and behaved like a gentleman. 'Ted, ' he said, 'I'vebrought a friend home for the night. I went out to look for a suspectand found a British officer. This is Captain Blaikie, of the ScotsFusiliers. '

The boy looked at me pleasantly. 'I'm very glad to meet you, sir. You'll excuse me not getting up, but I've got a game leg. ' He was thecopy of his father in features, but dark and sallow where the other wasblond. He had just the same narrow head, and stubborn mouth, andhonest, quick-tempered eyes. It is the type that makes dashingregimental officers, and earns V. C. S, and gets done in wholesale. I wasnever that kind. I belonged to the school of the cunning cowards. 

In the half-hour before dinner the last wisp of suspicion fled from myhost's mind. For Ted Broadbury and I were immediately deep in 'shop'. Ihad met most of his senior officers, and I knew all about their doingsat Arras, for his brigade had been across the river on my left. Wefought the great fight over again, and yarned about technicalities andslanged the Staff in the way young officers have, the father throwingin questions that showed how mighty proud he was of his son. I had abath before dinner, and as he led me to the bathroom he apologized veryhandsomely for his bad manners. 'Your coming's been a godsend for Ted. He was moping a bit in this place. And, though I say it that shouldn't, he's a dashed good boy. '

I had my promised bottle of port, and after dinner I took on the fatherat billiards. Then we settled in the smoking-room, and I laid myselfout to entertain the pair. The result was that they would have me staya week, but I spoke of the shortness of my leave, and said I must geton to the railway and then back to Fort William for my luggage. 

So I spent that night between clean sheets, and ate a Christianbreakfast, and was given my host's car to set me a bit on the road. Idismissed it after half a dozen miles, and, following the map, struckover the hills to the west. About midday I topped a ridge, and beheldthe Sound of Sleat shining beneath me. There were other things in thelandscape. In the valley on the right a long goods train was crawlingon the Mallaig railway. And across the strip of sea, like some fortressof the old gods, rose the dark bastions and turrets of the hills ofSkye. 

CHAPTER SIX

The Skirts of the Coolin

Obviously I must keep away from the railway. If the police were afterme in Morvern, that line would be warned, for it was a barrier I mustcross if I were to go farther north. I observed from the map that itturned up the coast, and concluded that the place for me to make forwas the shore south of that turn, where Heaven might send me some luckin the boat line. For I was pretty certain that every porter andstation-master on that tin-pot outfit was anxious to make betteracquaintance with my humble self. 

I lunched off the sandwiches the Broadburys had given me, and in thebright afternoon made my way down the hill, crossed at the foot of asmall fresh-water lochan, and pursued the issuing stream throughmidge-infested woods of hazels to its junction with the sea. It wasrough going, but very pleasant, and I fell into the same mood of idlecontentment that I had enjoyed the previous morning. I never met asoul. Sometimes a roe deer broke out of the covert, or an old blackcockstartled me with his scolding. The place was bright with heather, stillin its first bloom, and smelt better than the myrrh of Arabia. It was ablessed glen, and I was as happy as a king, till I began to feel thecoming of hunger, and reflected that the Lord alone knew when I mightget a meal. I had still some chocolate and biscuits, but I wantedsomething substantial. 

The distance was greater than I thought, and it was already twilightwhen I reached the coast. The shore was open and desolate--great banksof pebbles to which straggled alders and hazels from the hillsidescrub. But as I marched northward and turned a little point of land Isaw before me in a crook of the bay a smoking cottage. And, ploddingalong by the water's edge, was the bent figure of a man, laden withnets and lobster pots. Also, beached on the shingle was a boat. 

I quickened my pace and overtook the fisherman. He was an old man witha ragged grey beard, and his rig was seaman's boots and a much-darnedblue jersey. He was deaf, and did not hear me when I hailed him. Whenhe caught sight of me he never stopped, though he very solemnlyreturned my good evening. I fell into step with him, and in his silentcompany reached the cottage. 

He halted before the door and unslung his burdens. The place was atwo-roomed building with a roof of thatch, and the walls all grown overwith a yellow-flowered creeper. When he had straightened his back, helooked seaward and at the sky, as if to prospect the weather. Then heturned on me his gentle, absorbed eyes. 'It will haf been a fine day, sir. Wass you seeking the road to anywhere?'

'I was seeking a night's lodging, ' I said. 'I've had a long tramp onthe hills, and I'd be glad of a chance of not going farther. '

'We will haf no accommodation for a gentleman, ' he said gravely. 

'I can sleep on the floor, if you can give me a blanket and a bite ofsupper. '

'Indeed you will not, ' and he smiled slowly. 'But I will ask the wife. Mary, come here!'

An old woman appeared in answer to his call, a woman whose face was soold that she seemed like his mother. In highland places one sex agesquicker than the other. 

'This gentleman would like to bide the night. I wass telling him thatwe had a poor small house, but he says he will not be minding it. '

She looked at me with the timid politeness that you find only inoutland places. 

'We can do our best, indeed, sir. The gentleman can have Colin's bed inthe loft, but he will haf to be doing with plain food. Supper is readyif you will come in now. '

I had a scrub with a piece of yellow soap at an adjacent pool in theburn and then entered a kitchen blue with peat-reek. We had a meal ofboiled fish, oatcakes and skim-milk cheese, with cups of strong tea towash it down. The old folk had the manners of princes. They pressedfood on me, and asked me no questions, till for very decency's sake Ihad to put up a story and give some account of myself. 

I found they had a son in the Argylls and a young boy in the Navy. Butthey seemed disinclined to talk of them or of the war. By a mereaccident I hit on the old man's absorbing interest. He was passionateabout the land. He had taken part in long-forgotten agitations, and hadsuffered eviction in some ancient landlords' quarrel farther north. Presently he was pouring out to me all the woes of the crofter--woesthat seemed so antediluvian and forgotten that I listened as one wouldlisten to an old song. 'You who come from a new country will not hafheard of these things, ' he kept telling me, but by that peat fire Imade up for my defective education. He told me of evictions in theyear. One somewhere in Sutherland, and of harsh doings in the OuterIsles. It was far more than a political grievance. It was the lament ofthe conservative for vanished days and manners. 'Over in Skye wass thefine land for black cattle, and every man had his bit herd on thehillside. But the lairds said it wass better for sheep, and then theysaid it wass not good for sheep, so they put it under deer, and nowthere is no black cattle anywhere in Skye. ' I tell you it was like sadmusic on the bagpipes hearing that old fellow. The war and all thingsmodern meant nothing to him; he lived among the tragedies of his youthand his prime. 

I'm a Tory myself and a bit of a land-reformer, so we agreed wellenough. So well, that I got what I wanted without asking for it. I toldhim I was going to Skye, and he offered to take me over in his boat inthe morning. 'It will be no trouble. Indeed no. I will be going thatway myself to the fishing. '

I told him that after the war, every acre of British soil would have tobe used for the men that had earned the right to it. But that did notcomfort him. He was not thinking about the land itself, but about themen who had been driven from it fifty years before. His desire was notfor reform, but for restitution, and that was past the power of anyGovernment. I went to bed in the loft in a sad, reflective mood, considering how in speeding our newfangled plough we must break down amultitude of molehills and how desirable and unreplaceable was the lifeof the moles. 

In brisk, shining weather, with a wind from the south-east, we put offnext morning. In front was a brown line of low hills, and behind them, a little to the north, that black toothcomb of mountain range which Ihad seen the day before from the Arisaig ridge. 

'That is the Coolin, ' said the fisherman. 'It is a bad place where eventhe deer cannot go. But all the rest of Skye wass the fine land forblack cattle. '

As we neared the coast, he pointed out many places. 'Look there, Sir, in that glen. I haf seen six cot houses smoking there, and now there isnot any left. There were three men of my own name had crofts on themachars beyond the point, and if you go there you will only find themarks of their bit gardens. You will know the place by the gean trees. '

When he put me ashore in a sandy bay between green ridges of bracken, he was still harping upon the past. I got him to take a pound--for theboat and not for the night's hospitality, for he would have beaten mewith an oar if I had suggested that. The last I saw of him, as I turnedround at the top of the hill, he had still his sail down, and wasgazing at the lands which had once been full of human dwellings and nowwere desolate. 

I kept for a while along the ridge, with the Sound of Sleat on myright, and beyond it the high hills of Knoydart and Kintail. I waswatching for the _Tobermory_, but saw no sign of her. A steamer put outfrom Mallaig, and there were several drifters crawling up the channeland once I saw the white ensign and a destroyer bustled northward, leaving a cloud of black smoke in her wake. Then, after consulting themap, I struck across country, still keeping the higher ground, but, except at odd minutes, being out of sight of the sea. I concluded thatmy business was to get to the latitude of Ranna without wasting time. 

So soon as I changed my course I had the Coolin for company. Mountainshave always been a craze of mine, and the blackness and mystery ofthose grim peaks went to my head. I forgot all about Fosse Manor andthe Cotswolds. I forgot, too, what had been my chief feeling since Ileft Glasgow, a sense of the absurdity of my mission. It had all seemedtoo far-fetched and whimsical. I was running apparently no greatpersonal risk, and I had always the unpleasing fear that Blenkironmight have been too clever and that the whole thing might be a mare'snest. But that dark mountain mass changed my outlook. I began to have aqueer instinct that that was the place, that something might beconcealed there, something pretty damnable. I remember I sat on a topfor half an hour raking the hills with my glasses. I made out uglyprecipices, and glens which lost themselves in primeval blackness. Whenthe sun caught them--for it was a gleamy day--it brought out nocolours, only degrees of shade. No mountains I had ever seen--not theDrakensberg or the red kopjes of Damaraland or the cold, white peaksaround Erzerum--ever looked so unearthly and uncanny. 

Oddly enough, too, the sight of them set me thinking about Ivery. Thereseemed no link between a smooth, sedentary being, dwelling in villasand lecture-rooms, and that shaggy tangle of precipices. But I feltthere was, for I had begun to realize the bigness of my opponent. Blenkiron had said that he spun his web wide. That was intelligibleenough among the half-baked youth of Biggleswick, and the pacifistsocieties, or even the toughs on the Clyde. I could fit him in allright to that picture. But that he should be playing his game amongthose mysterious black crags seemed to make him bigger and moredesperate, altogether a different kind of proposition. I didn't exactlydislike the idea, for my objection to my past weeks had been that I wasout of my proper job, and this was more my line of country. I alwaysfelt that I was a better bandit than a detective. But a sort of awemingled with my satisfaction. I began to feel about Ivery as I had feltabout the three devils of the Black Stone who had hunted me before thewar, and as I never felt about any other Hun. The men we fought at theFront and the men I had run across in the Greenmantle business, evenold Stumm himself, had been human miscreants. They were formidableenough, but you could gauge and calculate their capacities. But thisIvery was like a poison gas that hung in the air and got intounexpected crannies and that you couldn't fight in an upstanding way. Till then, in spite of Blenkiron's solemnity, I had regarded him simplyas a problem. But now he seemed an intimate and omnipresent enemy, intangible, too, as the horror of a haunted house. Up on that sunnyhillside, with the sea winds round me and the whaups calling, I got achill in my spine when I thought of him. 

I am ashamed to confess it, but I was also horribly hungry. There wassomething about the war that made me ravenous, and the less chance offood the worse I felt. If I had been in London with twenty restaurantsopen to me, I should as likely as not have gone off my feed. That wasthe cussedness of my stomach. I had still a little chocolate left, andI ate the fisherman's buttered scones for luncheon, but long before theevening my thoughts were dwelling on my empty interior. 

I put up that night in a shepherd's cottage miles from anywhere. Theman was called Macmorran, and he had come from Galloway when sheep werebooming. He was a very good imitation of a savage, a little fellow withred hair and red eyes, who might have been a Pict. He lived with adaughter who had once been in service in Glasgow, a fat young womanwith a face entirely covered with freckles and a pout of habitualdiscontent. No wonder, for that cottage was a pretty mean place. It wasso thick with peat-reek that throat and eyes were always smarting. Itwas badly built, and must have leaked like a sieve in a storm. Thefather was a surly fellow, whose conversation was one long growl at theworld, the high prices, the difficulty of moving his sheep, themeanness of his master, and the godforsaken character of Skye. 'Here'sme no seen baker's bread for a month, and no company but a wheenignorant Hielanders that yatter Gawlic. I wish I was back in theGlenkens. And I'd gang the morn if I could get paid what I'm awed. '

However, he gave me supper--a braxy ham and oatcake, and I bought theremnants off him for use next day. I did not trust his blankets, so Islept the night by the fire in the ruins of an arm-chair, and woke atdawn with a foul taste in my mouth. A dip in the burn refreshed me, andafter a bowl of porridge I took the road again. For I was anxious toget to some hill-top that looked over to Ranna. 

Before midday I was close under the eastern side of the Coolin, on aroad which was more a rockery than a path. Presently I saw a big houseahead of me that looked like an inn, so I gave it a miss and struck thehighway that led to it a little farther north. Then I bore off to theeast, and was just beginning to climb a hill which I judged stoodbetween me and the sea, when I heard wheels on the road and looked back. 

It was a farmer's gig carrying one man. I was about half a mile off, and something in the cut of his jib seemed familiar. I got my glasseson him and made out a short, stout figure clad in a mackintosh, with awoollen comforter round its throat. As I watched, it made a movement asif to rub its nose on its sleeve. That was the pet trick of one man Iknew. Inconspicuously I slipped through the long heather so as to reachthe road ahead of the gig. When I rose like a wraith from the waysidethe horse started, but not the driver. 

'So ye're there, ' said Amos's voice. 'I've news for ye. The _Tobermory_will be in Ranna by now. She passed Broadford two hours syne. When Isaw her I yoked this beast and came up on the chance of foregatheringwith ye. '

'How on earth did you know I would be here?' I asked in some surprise. 

'Oh, I saw the way your mind was workin' from your telegram. And says Ito mysel'--that man Brand, says I, is not the chiel to be easy stoppit. But I was feared ye might be a day late, so I came up the road to holdthe fort. Man, I'm glad to see ye. Ye're younger and soopler than me, and yon Gresson's a stirrin' lad. '

'There's one thing you've got to do for me, ' I said. 'I can't go intoinns and shops, but I can't do without food. I see from the map there'sa town about six miles on. Go there and buy me anything that'stinned--biscuits and tongue and sardines, and a couple of bottles ofwhisky if you can get them. This may be a long job, so buy plenty. '

'Whaur'll I put them?' was his only question. 

We fixed on a cache, a hundred yards from the highway in a place wheretwo ridges of hill enclosed the view so that only a short bit of roadwas visible. 

'I'll get back to the Kyle, ' he told me, 'and a'body there kens AndraAmos, if ye should find a way of sendin' a message or comin' yourself. Oh, and I've got a word to ye from a lady that we ken of. She says, thesooner ye're back in Vawnity Fair the better she'll be pleased, alwaysprovided ye've got over the Hill Difficulty. '

A smile screwed up his old face and he waved his whip in farewell. Iinterpreted Mary's message as an incitement to speed, but I could notmake the pace. That was Gresson's business. I think I was a littlenettled, till I cheered myself by another interpretation. She might beanxious for my safety, she might want to see me again, anyhow the meresending of the message showed I was not forgotten. I was in a pleasantmuse as I breasted the hill, keeping discreetly in the cover of themany gullies. At the top I looked down on Ranna and the sea. 

There lay the _Tobermory_ busy unloading. It would be some time, nodoubt, before Gresson could leave. There was no row-boat in the channelyet, and I might have to wait hours. I settled myself snugly betweentwo rocks, where I could not be seen, and where I had a clear view ofthe sea and shore. But presently I found that I wanted some longheather to make a couch, and I emerged to get some. I had not raised myhead for a second when I flopped down again. For I had a neighbour onthe hill-top. 

He was about two hundred yards off, just reaching the crest, and, unlike me, walking quite openly. His eyes were on Ranna, so he did notnotice me, but from my cover I scanned every line of him. He looked anordinary countryman, wearing badly cut, baggy knickerbockers of thekind that gillies affect. He had a face like a Portuguese Jew, but Ihad seen that type before among people with Highland names; they mightbe Jews or not, but they could speak Gaelic. Presently he disappeared. He had followed my example and selected a hiding-place. 

It was a clear, hot day, but very pleasant in that airy place. Goodscents came up from the sea, the heather was warm and fragrant, beesdroned about, and stray seagulls swept the ridge with their wings. Itook a look now and then towards my neighbour, but he was deep in hishidey-hole. Most of the time I kept my glasses on Ranna, and watchedthe doings of the _Tobermory_. She was tied up at the jetty, but seemedin no hurry to unload. I watched the captain disembark and walk up to ahouse on the hillside. Then some idlers sauntered down towards her andstood talking and smoking close to her side. The captain returned andleft again. A man with papers in his hand appeared, and a woman withwhat looked like a telegram. The mate went ashore in his best clothes. Then at last, after midday, Gresson appeared. He joined the captain atthe piermaster's office, and presently emerged on the other side of thejetty where some small boats were beached. A man from the _Tobermory_came in answer to his call, a boat was launched, and began to make itsway into the channel. Gresson sat in the stern, placidly eating hisluncheon. 

I watched every detail of that crossing with some satisfaction that myforecast was turning out right. About half-way across, Gresson took theoars, but soon surrendered them to the _Tobermory_ man, and lit a pipe. He got out a pair of binoculars and raked my hillside. I tried to seeif my neighbour was making any signal, but all was quiet. Presently theboat was hid from me by the bulge of the hill, and I caught the soundof her scraping on the beach. 

Gresson was not a hill-walker like my neighbour. It took him the bestpart of an hour to get to the top, and he reached it at a point not twoyards from my hiding-place. I could hear by his labouring breath thathe was very blown. He walked straight over the crest till he was out ofsight of Ranna, and flung himself on the ground. He was now about fiftyyards from me, and I made shift to lessen the distance. There was agrassy trench skirting the north side of the hill, deep and thicklyovergrown with heather. I wound my way along it till I was about twelveyards from him, where I stuck, owing to the trench dying away. When Ipeered out of the cover I saw that the other man had joined him andthat the idiots were engaged in embracing each other. 

I dared not move an inch nearer, and as they talked in a low voice Icould hear nothing of what they said. Nothing except one phrase, whichthe strange man repeated twice, very emphatically. 'Tomorrow night, ' hesaid, and I noticed that his voice had not the Highland inflectionwhich I looked for. Gresson nodded and glanced at his watch, and thenthe two began to move downhill towards the road I had travelled thatmorning. 

I followed as best I could, using a shallow dry watercourse of whichsheep had made a track, and which kept me well below the level of themoor. It took me down the hill, but some distance from the line thepair were taking, and I had to reconnoitre frequently to watch theirmovements. They were still a quarter of a mile or so from the road, when they stopped and stared, and I stared with them. On that lonelyhighway travellers were about as rare as roadmenders, and what caughttheir eye was a farmer's gig driven by a thick-set elderly man with awoollen comforter round his neck. 

I had a bad moment, for I reckoned that if Gresson recognized Amos hemight take fright. Perhaps the driver of the gig thought the same, forhe appeared to be very drunk. He waved his whip, he jiggoted the reins, and he made an effort to sing. He looked towards the figures on thehillside, and cried out something. The gig narrowly missed the ditch, and then to my relief the horse bolted. Swaying like a ship in a gale, the whole outfit lurched out of sight round the corner of hill wherelay my cache. If Amos could stop the beast and deliver the goods there, he had put up a masterly bit of buffoonery. 

The two men laughed at the performance, and then they parted. Gressonretraced his steps up the hill. The other man--I called him in my mindthe Portuguese Jew--started off at a great pace due west, across theroad, and over a big patch of bog towards the northern butt of theCoolin. He had some errand, which Gresson knew about, and he was in ahurry to perform it. It was clearly my job to get after him. 

I had a rotten afternoon. The fellow covered the moorland miles like adeer, and under the hot August sun I toiled on his trail. I had to keepwell behind, and as much as possible in cover, in case he looked back;and that meant that when he had passed over a ridge I had to double notto let him get too far ahead, and when we were in an open place I hadto make wide circuits to keep hidden. We struck a road which crossed alow pass and skirted the flank of the mountains, and this we followedtill we were on the western side and within sight of the sea. It wasgorgeous weather, and out on the blue water I saw cool sails moving andlittle breezes ruffling the calm, while I was glowing like a furnace. Happily I was in fair training, and I needed it. The Portuguese Jewmust have done a steady six miles an hour over abominable country. 

About five o'clock we came to a point where I dared not follow. Theroad ran flat by the edge of the sea, so that several miles of it werevisible. Moreover, the man had begun to look round every few minutes. He was getting near something and wanted to be sure that no one was inhis neighbourhood. I left the road accordingly, and took to thehillside, which to my undoing was one long cascade of screes andtumbled rocks. I saw him drop over a rise which seemed to mark the rimof a little bay into which descended one of the big corries of themountains. It must have been a good half-hour later before I, at mygreater altitude and with far worse going, reached the same rim. Ilooked into the glen and my man had disappeared. 

He could not have crossed it, for the place was wider than I hadthought. A ring of black precipices came down to within half a mile ofthe shore, and between them was a big stream--long, shallow pools atthe sea end and a chain of waterfalls above. He had gone to earth likea badger somewhere, and I dared not move in case he might be watchingme from behind a boulder. 

But even as I hesitated he appeared again, fording the stream, his faceset on the road we had come. Whatever his errand was he had finishedit, and was posting back to his master. For a moment I thought I shouldfollow him, but another instinct prevailed. He had not come to thiswild place for the scenery. Somewhere down in the glen there wassomething or somebody that held the key of the mystery. It was mybusiness to stay there till I had unlocked it. Besides, in two hours itwould be dark, and I had had enough walking for one day. 

I made my way to the stream side and had a long drink. The corriebehind me was lit up with the westering sun, and the bald cliffs wereflushed with pink and gold. On each side of the stream was turf like alawn, perhaps a hundred yards wide, and then a tangle of long heatherand boulders right up to the edge of the great rocks. I had never seena more delectable evening, but I could not enjoy its peace because ofmy anxiety about the Portuguese Jew. He had not been there more thanhalf an hour, just about long enough for a man to travel to the firstridge across the burn and back. Yet he had found time to do hisbusiness. He might have left a letter in some prearranged place--inwhich case I would stay there till the man it was meant for turned up. Or he might have met someone, though I didn't think that possible. As Iscanned the acres of rough moor and then looked at the sea lappingdelicately on the grey sand I had the feeling that a knotty problem wasbefore me. It was too dark to try to track his steps. That must be leftfor the morning, and I prayed that there would be no rain in the night. 

I ate for supper most of the braxy ham and oatcake I had brought fromMacmorran's cottage. It took some self-denial, for I was ferociouslyhungry, to save a little for breakfast next morning. Then I pulledheather and bracken and made myself a bed in the shelter of a rockwhich stood on a knoll above the stream. My bed-chamber was wellhidden, but at the same time, if anything should appear in the earlydawn, it gave me a prospect. With my waterproof I was perfectly warm, and, after smoking two pipes, I fell asleep. 

My night's rest was broken. First it was a fox which came and barked atmy ear and woke me to a pitch-black night, with scarcely a starshowing. The next time it was nothing but a wandering hill-wind, but asI sat up and listened I thought I saw a spark of light near the edge ofthe sea. It was only for a second, but it disquieted me. I got out andclimbed on the top of the rock, but all was still save for the gentlelap of the tide and the croak of some night bird among the crags. Thethird time I was suddenly quite wide awake, and without any reason, forI had not been dreaming. Now I have slept hundreds of times alonebeside my horse on the veld, and I never knew any cause for suchawakenings but the one, and that was the presence near me of some humanbeing. A man who is accustomed to solitude gets this extra sense whichannounces like an alarm-clock the approach of one of his kind. 

But I could hear nothing. There was a scraping and rustling on themoor, but that was only the wind and the little wild things of thehills. A fox, perhaps, or a blue hare. I convinced my reason, but notmy senses, and for long I lay awake with my ears at full cock and everynerve tense. Then I fell asleep, and woke to the first flush of dawn. 

The sun was behind the Coolin and the hills were black as ink, but farout in the western seas was a broad band of gold. I got up and wentdown to the shore. The mouth of the stream was shallow, but as I movedsouth I came to a place where two small capes enclosed an inlet. Itmust have been a fault in the volcanic rock, for its depth wasportentous. I stripped and dived far into its cold abysses, but I didnot reach the bottom. I came to the surface rather breathless, andstruck out to sea, where I floated on my back and looked at the greatrampart of crag. I saw that the place where I had spent the night wasonly a little oasis of green at the base of one of the grimmest corriesthe imagination could picture. It was as desert as Damaraland. Inoticed, too, how sharply the cliffs rose from the level. There werechimneys and gullies by which a man might have made his way to thesummit, but no one of them could have been scaled except by amountaineer. 

I was feeling better now, with all the frowsiness washed out of me, andI dried myself by racing up and down the heather. Then I noticedsomething. There were marks of human feet at the top of the deep-waterinlet--not mine, for they were on the other side. The short sea-turfwas bruised and trampled in several places, and there were broken stemsof bracken. I thought that some fisherman had probably landed there tostretch his legs. 

But that set me thinking of the Portuguese Jew. After breakfasting onmy last morsels of food--a knuckle of braxy and a bit of oatcake--I setabout tracking him from the place where he had first entered the glen. To get my bearings, I went back over the road I had come myself, andafter a good deal of trouble I found his spoor. It was pretty clear asfar as the stream, for he had been walking--or rather running--overground with many patches of gravel on it. After that it was difficult, and I lost it entirely in the rough heather below the crags. All that Icould make out for certain was that he had crossed the stream, and thathis business, whatever it was, had been with the few acres of tumbledwilderness below the precipices. 

I spent a busy morning there, but found nothing except the skeleton ofa sheep picked clean by the ravens. It was a thankless job, and I gotvery cross over it. I had an ugly feeling that I was on a false scentand wasting my time. I wished to Heaven I had old Peter with me. Hecould follow spoor like a Bushman, and would have riddled thePortuguese Jew's track out of any jungle on earth. That was a game Ihad never learned, for in the old days I had always left it to mynatives. I chucked the attempt, and lay disconsolately on a warm patchof grass and smoked and thought about Peter. But my chief reflectionswere that I had breakfasted at five, that it was now eleven, that I wasintolerably hungry, that there was nothing here to feed a grasshopper, and that I should starve unless I got supplies. 

It was a long road to my cache, but there were no two ways of it. Myonly hope was to sit tight in the glen, and it might involve a wait ofdays. To wait I must have food, and, though it meant relinquishingguard for a matter of six hours, the risk had to be taken. I set off ata brisk pace with a very depressed mind. 

From the map it seemed that a short cut lay over a pass in the range. Iresolved to take it, and that short cut, like most of its kind, wasunblessed by Heaven. I will not dwell upon the discomforts of thejourney. I found myself slithering among screes, climbing steepchimneys, and travelling precariously along razor-backs. The shoes werenearly rent from my feet by the infernal rocks, which were all pittedas if by some geological small-pox. When at last I crossed the divide, I had a horrible business getting down from one level to another in agruesome corrie, where each step was composed of smooth boiler-plates. But at last I was among the bogs on the east side, and came to theplace beside the road where I had fixed my cache. 

The faithful Amos had not failed me. There were the provisions--acouple of small loaves, a dozen tins, and a bottle of whisky. I madethe best pack I could of them in my waterproof, swung it on my stick, and started back, thinking that I must be very like the picture ofChristian on the title-page of _Pilgrim's Progress_. 

I was liker Christian before I reached my destination--Christian afterhe had got up the Hill Difficulty. The morning's walk had been bad, butthe afternoon's was worse, for I was in a fever to get back, and, having had enough of the hills, chose the longer route I had followedthe previous day. I was mortally afraid of being seen, for I cut aqueer figure, so I avoided every stretch of road where I had not aclear view ahead. Many weary detours I made among moss-hags and screesand the stony channels of burns. But I got there at last, and it wasalmost with a sense of comfort that I flung my pack down beside thestream where I had passed the night. 

I ate a good meal, lit my pipe, and fell into the equable mood whichfollows upon fatigue ended and hunger satisfied. The sun was westering, and its light fell upon the rock-wall above the place where I hadabandoned my search for the spoor. 

As I gazed at it idly I saw a curious thing. 

It seemed to be split in two and a shaft of sunlight came throughbetween. There could be no doubt about it. I saw the end of the shafton the moor beneath, while all the rest lay in shadow. I rubbed myeyes, and got out my glasses. Then I guessed the explanation. There wasa rock tower close against the face of the main precipice andindistinguishable from it to anyone looking direct at the face. Onlywhen the sun fell on it obliquely could it be discovered. And betweenthe tower and the cliff there must be a substantial hollow. 

The discovery brought me to my feet, and set me running towards the endof the shaft of sunlight. I left the heather, scrambled up some yardsof screes, and had a difficult time on some very smooth slabs, whereonly the friction of tweed and rough rock gave me a hold. Slowly Iworked my way towards the speck of sunlight, till I found a handhold, and swung myself into the crack. On one side was the main wall of thehill, on the other a tower some ninety feet high, and between them along crevice varying in width from three to six feet. Beyond it thereshowed a small bright patch of sea. 

There was more, for at the point where I entered it there was anoverhang which made a fine cavern, low at the entrance but a dozen feethigh inside, and as dry as tinder. Here, thought I, is the perfecthiding-place. Before going farther I resolved to return for food. Itwas not very easy descending, and I slipped the last twenty feet, landing on my head in a soft patch of screes. At the burnside I filledmy flask from the whisky bottle, and put half a loaf, a tin ofsardines, a tin of tongue, and a packet of chocolate in my waterproofpockets. Laden as I was, it took me some time to get up again, but Imanaged it, and stored my belongings in a corner of the cave. Then Iset out to explore the rest of the crack. 

It slanted down and then rose again to a small platform. After that itdropped in easy steps to the moor beyond the tower. If the PortugueseJew had come here, that was the way by which he had reached it, for hewould not have had the time to make my ascent. I went very cautiously, for I felt I was on the eve of a big discovery. The platform was partlyhidden from my end by a bend in the crack, and it was more or lessscreened by an outlying bastion of the tower from the other side. Itssurface was covered with fine powdery dust, as were the steps beyondit. In some excitement I knelt down and examined it. 

Beyond doubt there was spoor here. I knew the Portuguese Jew'sfootmarks by this time, and I made them out clearly, especially in onecorner. But there were other footsteps, quite different. The one showedthe rackets of rough country boots, the others were from un-nailedsoles. Again I longed for Peter to make certain, though I was prettysure of my conclusions. The man I had followed had come here, and hehad not stayed long. Someone else had been here, probably later, forthe un-nailed shoes overlaid the rackets. The first man might have lefta message for the second. Perhaps the second was that human presence ofwhich I had been dimly conscious in the night-time. 

I carefully removed all traces of my own footmarks, and went back to mycave. My head was humming with my discovery. I remembered Gresson'sword to his friend: 'Tomorrow night. ' As I read it, the Portuguese Jewhad taken a message from Gresson to someone, and that someone had comefrom somewhere and picked it up. The message contained an assignationfor this very night. I had found a point of observation, for no one waslikely to come near my cave, which was reached from the moor by such atoilsome climb. There I should bivouac and see what the darknessbrought forth. I remember reflecting on the amazing luck which had sofar attended me. As I looked from my refuge at the blue haze oftwilight creeping over the waters, I felt my pulses quicken with a wildanticipation. 

Then I heard a sound below me, and craned my neck round the edge of thetower. A man was climbing up the rock by the way I had come. 

CHAPTER SEVEN

I Hear of the Wild Birds

I saw an old green felt hat, and below it lean tweed-clad shoulders. Then I saw a knapsack with a stick slung through it, as the ownerwriggled his way on to a shelf. Presently he turned his face upward tojudge the remaining distance. It was the face of a young man, a facesallow and angular, but now a little flushed with the day's sun and thework of climbing. It was a face that I had first seen at Fosse Manor. 

I felt suddenly sick and heartsore. I don't know why, but I had neverreally associated the intellectuals of Biggleswick with a business likethis. None of them but Ivery, and he was different. They had been sillyand priggish, but no more--I would have taken my oath on it. Yet herewas one of them engaged in black treason against his native land. Something began to beat in my temples when I remembered that Mary andthis man had been friends, that he had held her hand, and called her byher Christian name. My first impulse was to wait till he got up andthen pitch him down among the boulders and let his German accomplicespuzzle over his broken neck. 

With difficulty I kept down that tide of fury. I had my duty to do, andto keep on terms with this man was part of it. I had to convince himthat I was an accomplice, and that might not be easy. I leaned over theedge, and, as he got to his feet on the ledge above the boiler-plates, I whistled so that he turned his face to me. 

'Hullo, Wake, 'I said. 

He started, stared for a second, and recognized me. He did not seemover-pleased to see me. 

'Brand!' he cried. 'How did you get here?'

He swung himself up beside me, straightened his back and unbuckled hisknapsack. 'I thought this was my own private sanctuary, and that nobodyknew it but me. Have you spotted the cave? It's the best bedroom inSkye. ' His tone was, as usual, rather acid. 

That little hammer was beating in my head. I longed to get my hands onhis throat and choke the smug treason in him. But I kept my mind fixedon one purpose--to persuade him that I shared his secret and was on hisside. His off-hand self-possession seemed only the clever screen of thesurprised conspirator who was hunting for a plan. 

We entered the cave, and he flung his pack into a corner. 'Last time Iwas here, ' he said, 'I covered the floor with heather. We must get somemore if we would sleep soft. ' In the twilight he was a dim figure, buthe seemed a new man from the one I had last seen in the Moot Hall atBiggleswick. There was a wiry vigour in his body and a purpose in hisface. What a fool I had been to set him down as no more than aconceited fidneur!

He went out to the shelf again and sniffed the fresh evening. There wasa wonderful red sky in the west, but in the crevice the shades hadfallen, and only the bright patches at either end told of the sunset. 

'Wake, ' I said, 'you and I have to understand each other. I'm a friendof Ivery and I know the meaning of this place. I discovered it byaccident, but I want you to know that I'm heart and soul with you. Youmay trust me in tonight's job as if I were Ivery himself. '

He swung round and looked at me sharply. His eyes were hot again, as Iremembered them at our first meeting. 

'What do you mean? How much do you know?'

The hammer was going hard in my forehead, and I had to pull myselftogether to answer. 

'I know that at the end of this crack a message was left last night, and that someone came out of the sea and picked it up. That someone iscoming again when darkness falls, and there will be another message. '

He had turned his head away. 'You are talking nonsense. No submarinecould land on this coast. '

I could see that he was trying me. 

'This morning, ' I said, 'I swam in the deep-water inlet below us. It isthe most perfect submarine shelter in Britain. '

He still kept his face from me, looking the way he had come. For amoment he was silent, and then he spoke in the bitter, drawling voicewhich had annoyed me at Fosse Manor. 

'How do you reconcile this business with your principles, Mr Brand? Youwere always a patriot, I remember, though you didn't see eye to eyewith the Government. '

It was not quite what I expected and I was unready. I stammered in myreply. 'It's because I am a patriot that I want peace. I think that ... I mean ... '

'Therefore you are willing to help the enemy to win?'

'They have already won. I want that recognized and the end hurried on. 'I was getting my mind clearer and continued fluently. 

'The longer the war lasts, the worse this country is ruined. We mustmake the people realize the truth, and--'

But he swung round suddenly, his eyes blazing. 

'You blackguard!' he cried, 'you damnable blackguard!' And he flunghimself on me like a wild-cat. 

I had got my answer. He did not believe me, he knew me for a spy, andhe was determined to do me in. We were beyond finesse now, and back atthe old barbaric game. It was his life or mine. The hammer beatfuriously in my head as we closed, and a fierce satisfaction rose in myheart. 

He never had a chance, for though he was in good trim and had thelight, wiry figure of the mountaineer, he hadn't a quarter of mymuscular strength. Besides, he was wrongly placed, for he had theoutside station. Had he been on the inside he might have toppled meover the edge by his sudden assault. As it was, I grappled him andforced him to the ground, squeezing the breath out of his body in theprocess. I must have hurt him considerably, but he never gave a cry. With a good deal of trouble I lashed his hands behind his back with thebelt of my waterproof, carried him inside the cave and laid him in thedark end of it. Then I tied his feet with the strap of his ownknapsack. I would have to gag him, but that could wait. 

I had still to contrive a plan of action for the night, for I did notknow what part he had been meant to play in it. He might be themessenger instead of the Portuguese Jew, in which case he would havepapers about his person. If he knew of the cave, others might have thesame knowledge, and I had better shift him before they came. I lookedat my wrist-watch, and the luminous dial showed that the hour was halfpast nine. 

Then I noticed that the bundle in the corner was sobbing. It was ahorrid sound and it worried me. I had a little pocket electric torchand I flashed it on Wake's face. If he was crying, it was with dry eyes. 

'What are you going to do with me?' he asked. 

'That depends, ' I said grimly. 

'Well, I'm ready. I may be a poor creature, but I'm damned if I'mafraid of you, or anything like you. ' That was a brave thing to say, for it was a lie; his teeth were chattering. 

'I'm ready for a deal, ' I said. 

'You won't get it, ' was his answer. 'Cut my throat if you mean to, butfor God's sake don't insult me ... I choke when I think about you. Youcome to us and we welcome you, and receive you in our houses, and tellyou our inmost thoughts, and all the time you're a bloody traitor. Youwant to sell us to Germany. You may win now, but by God! your time willcome! That is my last word to you ... You swine!'

The hammer stopped beating in my head. I saw myself suddenly as ablind, preposterous fool. I strode over to Wake, and he shut his eyesas if he expected a blow. Instead I unbuckled the straps which held hislegs and arms. 

'Wake, old fellow, ' I said, 'I'm the worst kind of idiot. I'll eat allthe dirt you want. I'll give you leave to knock me black and blue, andI won't lift a hand. But not now. Now we've another job on hand. Man, we're on the same side and I never knew it. It's too bad a case forapologies, but if it's any consolation to you I feel the lowest dog inEurope at this moment. '

He was sitting up rubbing his bruised shoulders. 'What do you mean?' heasked hoarsely. 

'I mean that you and I are allies. My name's not Brand. I'm asoldier--a general, if you want to know. I went to Biggleswick underorders, and I came chasing up here on the same job. Ivery's the biggestGerman agent in Britain and I'm after him. I've struck hiscommunication lines, and this very night, please God, we'll get thelast clue to the riddle. Do you hear? We're in this business together, and you've got to lend a hand. '

I told him briefly the story of Gresson, and how I had tracked his manhere. As I talked we ate our supper, and I wish I could have watchedWake's face. He asked questions, for he wasn't convinced in a hurry. Ithink it was my mention of Mary Lamington that did the trick. I don'tknow why, but that seemed to satisfy him. But he wasn't going to givehimself away. 

'You may count on me, ' he said, 'for this is black, blackguardlytreason. But you know my politics, and I don't change them for this. I'm more against your accursed war than ever, now that I know what warinvolves. '

'Right-o, ' I said, 'I'm a pacifist myself. You won't get any heroicsabout war from me. I'm all for peace, but we've got to down thosedevils first. '

It wasn't safe for either of us to stick in that cave, so we clearedaway the marks of our occupation, and hid our packs in a deep creviceon the rock. Wake announced his intention of climbing the tower, whilethere was still a faint afterglow of light. 'It's broad on the top, andI can keep a watch out to sea if any light shows. I've been up itbefore. I found the way two years ago. No, I won't fall asleep andtumble off. I slept most of the afternoon on the top of SgurrVhiconnich, and I'm as wakeful as a bat now. '

I watched him shin up the face of the tower, and admired greatly thespeed and neatness with which he climbed. Then I followed the crevicesouthward to the hollow just below the platform where I had found thefootmarks. There was a big boulder there, which partly shut off theview of it from the direction of our cave. The place was perfect for mypurpose, for between the boulder and the wall of the tower was a narrowgap, through which I could hear all that passed on the platform. Ifound a stance where I could rest in comfort and keep an eye throughthe crack on what happened beyond. 

There was still a faint light on the platform, but soon thatdisappeared and black darkness settled down on the hills. It was thedark of the moon, and, as had happened the night before, a thin wrackblew over the sky, hiding the stars. The place was very still, thoughnow and then would come the cry of a bird from the crags that beetledabove me, and from the shore the pipe of a tern or oyster-catcher. Anowl hooted from somewhere up on the tower. That I reckoned was Wake, soI hooted back and was answered. I unbuckled my wrist-watch and pocketedit, lest its luminous dial should betray me; and I noticed that thehour was close on eleven. I had already removed my shoes, and my jacketwas buttoned at the collar so as to show no shirt. I did not think thatthe coming visitor would trouble to explore the crevice beyond theplatform, but I wanted to be prepared for emergencies. 

Then followed an hour of waiting. I felt wonderfully cheered andexhilarated, for Wake had restored my confidence in human nature. Inthat eerie place we were wrapped round with mystery like a fog. Someunknown figure was coming out of the sea, the emissary of that Power wehad been at grips with for three years. It was as if the war had justmade contact with our own shores, and never, not even when I was alonein the South German forest, had I felt so much the sport of a whimsicalfate. I only wished Peter could have been with me. And so my thoughtsfled to Peter in his prison camp, and I longed for another sight of myold friend as a girl longs for her lover. 

Then I heard the hoot of an owl, and presently the sound of carefulsteps fell on my ear. I could see nothing, but I guessed it was thePortuguese Jew, for I could hear the grinding of heavily nailed bootson the gritty rock. 

The figure was very quiet. It appeared to be sitting down, and then itrose and fumbled with the wall of the tower just beyond the boulderbehind which I sheltered. It seemed to move a stone and to replace it. After that came silence, and then once more the hoot of an owl. Therewere steps on the rock staircase, the steps of a man who did not knowthe road well and stumbled a little. Also they were the steps of onewithout nails in his boots. 

They reached the platform and someone spoke. It was the Portuguese Jewand he spoke in good German. 

'_Die vogelein schweigen im Walde, _' he said. 

The answer came from a clear, authoritative voice. 

'_Warte nur, balde ruhest du auch. _'

Clearly some kind of password, for sane men don't talk about littlebirds in that kind of situation. It sounded to me like indifferentpoetry. 

Then followed a conversation in low tones, of which I only caught oddphrases. I heard two names--Chelius and what sounded like a Dutch word, Bommaerts. Then to my joy I caught _Effenbein_, and when uttered itseemed to be followed by a laugh. I heard too a phrase several timesrepeated, which seemed to me to be pure gibberish--_Die Stubenvogelverstehn_. It was spoken by the man from the sea. And then the word_Wildvogel_. The pair seemed demented about birds. 

For a second an electric torch was flashed in the shelter of the rock, and I could see a tanned, bearded face looking at some papers. Thelight disappeared, and again the Portuguese Jew was fumbling with thestones at the base of the tower. To my joy he was close to my crack, and I could hear every word. 'You cannot come here very often, ' hesaid, 'and it may be hard to arrange a meeting. See, therefore, theplace I have made to put the _Viageffutter_. When I get a chance I willcome here, and you will come also when you are able. Often there willbe nothing, but sometimes there will be much. '

My luck was clearly in, and my exultation made me careless. A stone, onwhich a foot rested, slipped and though I checked myself at once, theconfounded thing rolled down into the hollow, making a great clatter. Iplastered myself in the embrasure of the rock and waited with a beatingheart. The place was pitch dark, but they had an electric torch, and ifthey once flashed it on me I was gone. I heard them leave the platformand climb down into the hollow. There they stood listening, while Iheld my breath. Then I heard '_Nix, mein freund, _' and the two wentback, the naval officer's boots slipping on the gravel. 

They did not leave the platform together. The man from the sea bade ashort farewell to the Portuguese Jew, listening, I thought, impatientlyto his final message as if eager to be gone. It was a good half-hourbefore the latter took himself off, and I heard the sound of his nailedboots die away as he reached the heather of the moor. 

I waited a little longer, and then crawled back to the cave. The owlhooted, and presently Wake descended lightly beside me; he must haveknown every foothold and handhold by heart to do the job in that inkyblackness. I remember that he asked no question of me, but he usedlanguage rare on the lips of conscientious objectors about the men whohad lately been in the crevice. We, who four hours earlier had been atdeath grips, now curled up on the hard floor like two tired dogs, andfell sound asleep. 

 * * * * *

I woke to find Wake in a thundering bad temper. The thing he rememberedmost about the night before was our scrap and the gross way I hadinsulted him. I didn't blame him, for if any man had taken me for aGerman spy I would have been out for his blood, and it was no goodexplaining that he had given me grounds for suspicion. He was as touchyabout his blessed principles as an old maid about her age. I wasfeeling rather extra buckish myself and that didn't improve matters. His face was like a gargoyle as we went down to the beach to bathe, soI held my tongue. He was chewing the cud of his wounded pride. 

But the salt water cleared out the dregs of his distemper. You couldn'tbe peevish swimming in that jolly, shining sea. We raced each otheraway beyond the inlet to the outer water, which a brisk morning breezewas curling. Then back to a promontory of heather, where the firstbeams of the sun coming over the Coolin dried our skins. He sat hunchedup staring at the mountains while I prospected the rocks at the edge. Out in the Minch two destroyers were hurrying southward, and I wonderedwhere in that waste of blue was the craft which had come here in thenight watches. 

I found the spoor of the man from the sea quite fresh on a patch ofgravel above the tide-mark. 

'There's our friend of the night, ' I said. 

'I believe the whole thing was a whimsy, ' said Wake, his eyes on thechimneys of Sgurr Dearg. 'They were only two natives--poachers, perhaps, or tinkers. '

'They don't speak German in these parts. '

'It was Gaelic probably. '

'What do you make of this, then?' and I quoted the stuff about birdswith which they had greeted each other. 

Wake looked interested. 'That's _Uber allen Gipfeln_. Have you everread Goethe?'

'Never a word. And what do you make of that?' I pointed to a flat rockbelow tide-mark covered with a tangle of seaweed. It was of a softerstone than the hard stuff in the hills and somebody had scraped offhalf the seaweed and a slice of the side. 'That wasn't done yesterdaymorning, for I had my bath here. '

Wake got up and examined the place. He nosed about in the crannies ofthe rocks lining the inlet, and got into the water again to explorebetter. When he joined me he was smiling. 'I apologize for myscepticism, ' he said. 'There's been some petrol-driven craft here inthe night. I can smell it, for I've a nose like a retriever. I daresayyou're on the right track. Anyhow, though you seem to know a bit aboutGerman, you could scarcely invent immortal poetry. '

We took our belongings to a green crook of the burn, and made a verygood breakfast. Wake had nothing in his pack but plasmon biscuits andraisins, for that, he said, was his mountaineering provender, but hewas not averse to sampling my tinned stuff. He was a different-sizedfellow out in the hills from the anaemic intellectual of Biggleswick. He had forgotten his beastly self-consciousness, and spoke of his hobbywith a serious passion. It seemed he had scrambled about everywhere inEurope, from the Caucasus to the Pyrenees. I could see he must be goodat the job, for he didn't brag of his exploits. It was the mountainsthat he loved, not wriggling his body up hard places. The Coolin, hesaid, were his favourites, for on some of them you could get twothousand feet of good rock. We got our glasses on the face of SgurrAlasdair, and he sketched out for me various ways of getting to itsgrim summit. The Coolin and the Dolomites for him, for he had growntired of the Chamonix aiguilles. I remember he described withtremendous gusto the joys of early dawn in Tyrol, when you ascendedthrough acres of flowery meadows to a tooth of clean white limestoneagainst a clean blue sky. He spoke, too, of the little wild hills inthe Bavarian Wettersteingebirge, and of a guide he had picked up thereand trained to the job. 

'They called him Sebastian Buchwieser. He was the jolliest boy you eversaw, and as clever on crags as a chamois. He is probably dead by now, dead in a filthy jaeger battalion. That's you and your accursed war. '

'Well, we've got to get busy and end it in the right way, ' I said. 'Andyou've got to help, my lad. '

He was a good draughtsman, and with his assistance I drew a rough mapof the crevice where we had roosted for the night, giving its bearingscarefully in relation to the burn and the sea. Then I wrote down allthe details about Gresson and the Portuguese Jew, and described thelatter in minute detail. I described, too, most precisely the cachewhere it had been arranged that the messages should be placed. Thatfinished my stock of paper, and I left the record of the oddmentsoverheard of the conversation for a later time. I put the thing in anold leather cigarette-case I possessed, and handed it to Wake. 

'You've got to go straight off to the Kyle and not waste any time onthe way. Nobody suspects you, so you can travel any road you please. When you get there you ask for Mr Andrew Amos, who has some Governmentjob in the neighbourhood. Give him that paper from me. He'll know whatto do with it all right. Tell him I'll get somehow to the Kyle beforemidday the day after tomorrow. I must cover my tracks a bit, so I can'tcome with you, and I want that thing in his hands just as fast as yourlegs will take you. If anyone tries to steal it from you, for God'ssake eat it. You can see for yourself that it's devilish important. '

'I shall be back in England in three days, ' he said. 'Any message foryour other friends?'

'Forget all about me. You never saw me here. I'm still Brand, theamiable colonial studying social movements. If you meet Ivery, say youheard of me on the Clyde, deep in sedition. But if you see MissLamington you can tell her I'm past the Hill Difficulty. I'm comingback as soon as God will let me, and I'm going to drop right into theBiggleswick push. Only this time I'll be a little more advanced in myviews ... You needn't get cross. I'm not saying anything against yourprinciples. The main point is that we both hate dirty treason. '

He put the case in his waistcoat pocket. 'I'll go round Garsbheinn, ' hesaid, 'and over by Camasunary. I'll be at the Kyle long before evening. I meant anyhow to sleep at Broadford tonight ... Goodbye, Brand, forI've forgotten your proper name. You're not a bad fellow, but you'velanded me in melodrama for the first time in my sober existence. I havea grudge against you for mixing up the Coolin with a shilling shocker. You've spoiled their sanctity. '

'You've the wrong notion of romance, ' I said. 'Why, man, last night foran hour you were in the front line--the place where the enemy forcestouch our own. You were over the top--you were in No-man's-land. '

He laughed. 'That is one way to look at it'; and then he stalked offand I watched his lean figure till it was round the turn of the hill. 

All that morning I smoked peacefully by the burn, and let my thoughtswander over the whole business. I had got precisely what Blenkironwanted, a post office for the enemy. It would need careful handling, but I could see the juiciest lies passing that way to the _GrossesHaupiquartier_. Yet I had an ugly feeling at the back of my head thatit had been all too easy, and that Ivery was not the man to be duped inthis way for long. That set me thinking about the queer talk on thecrevice. The poetry stuff I dismissed as the ordinary password, probably changed every time. But who were Chelius and Bommaerts, andwhat in the name of goodness were the Wild Birds and the Cage Birds?Twice in the past three years I had had two such riddles tosolve--Scudder's scribble in his pocket-book, and Harry Bullivant'sthree words. I remembered how it had only been by constant chewing atthem that I had got a sort of meaning, and I wondered if fate wouldsome day expound this puzzle also. 

Meantime I had to get back to London as inconspicuously as I had come. It might take some doing, for the police who had been active in Morvernmight be still on the track, and it was essential that I should keepout of trouble and give no hint to Gresson and his friends that I hadbeen so far north. However, that was for Amos to advise me on, andabout noon I picked up my waterproof with its bursting pockets and setoff on a long detour up the coast. All that blessed day I scarcely meta soul. I passed a distillery which seemed to have quit business, andin the evening came to a little town on the sea where I had a bed andsupper in a superior kind of public-house. 

Next day I struck southward along the coast, and had two experiences ofinterest. I had a good look at Ranna, and observed that the _Tobermory_was no longer there. Gresson had only waited to get his job finished;he could probably twist the old captain any way he wanted. The secondwas that at the door of a village smithy I saw the back of thePortuguese Jew. He was talking Gaelic this time--good Gaelic itsounded, and in that knot of idlers he would have passed for theordinariest kind of gillie. 

He did not see me, and I had no desire to give him the chance, for Ihad an odd feeling that the day might come when it would be good for usto meet as strangers. 

That night I put up boldly in the inn at Broadford, where they fed menobly on fresh sea-trout and I first tasted an excellent liqueur madeof honey and whisky. Next morning I was early afoot, and well beforemidday was in sight of the narrows of the Kyle, and the two littlestone clachans which face each other across the strip of sea. 

About two miles from the place at a turn of the road I came upon afarmer's gig, drawn up by the wayside, with the horse cropping themoorland grass. A man sat on the bank smoking, with his left arm hookedin the reins. He was an oldish man, with a short, square figure, and awoollen comforter enveloped his throat. 

CHAPTER EIGHT

The Adventures of a Bagman

'Ye're punctual to time, Mr Brand, ' said the voice of Amos. 'But losh!man, what have ye done to your breeks! And your buits? Ye're no justvery respectable in your appearance. '

I wasn't. The confounded rocks of the Coolin had left their mark on myshoes, which moreover had not been cleaned for a week, and the samehills had rent my jacket at the shoulders, and torn my trousers abovethe right knee, and stained every part of my apparel with peat andlichen. 

I cast myself on the bank beside Amos and lit my pipe. 'Did you get mymessage?' I asked. 

'Ay. It's gone on by a sure hand to the destination we ken of. Ye'vemanaged well, Mr Brand, but I wish ye were back in London. ' He suckedat his pipe, and the shaggy brows were pulled so low as to hide thewary eyes. Then he proceeded to think aloud. 

'Ye canna go back by Mallaig. I don't just understand why, but they'relookin' for you down that line. It's a vexatious business when yourfriends, meanin' the polis, are doing their best to upset your plansand you no able to enlighten them. I could send word to the ChiefConstable and get ye through to London without a stop like a load offish from Aiberdeen, but that would be spoilin' the fine characterye've been at such pains to construct. Na, na! Ye maun take the riskand travel by Muirtown without ony creedentials. '

'It can't be a very big risk, ' I interpolated. 

'I'm no so sure. Gresson's left the _Tobermory_. He went by hereyesterday, on the Mallaig boat, and there was a wee blackavised manwith him that got out at the Kyle. He's there still, stoppin' at thehotel. They ca' him Linklater and he travels in whisky. I don't likethe looks of him. '

'But Gresson does not suspect me?'

'Maybe no. But ye wouldna like him to see ye hereaways. Yon gentrydon't leave muckle to chance. Be very certain that every man inGresson's lot kens all about ye, and has your description down to themole on your chin. '

'Then they've got it wrong, ' I replied. 

'I was speakin' feeguratively, ' said Amos. 'I was considerin' your casethe feck of yesterday, and I've brought the best I could do for ye inthe gig. I wish ye were more respectable clad, but a good topcoat willhide defeecencies. '

From behind the gig's seat he pulled out an ancient Gladstone bag andrevealed its contents. There was a bowler of a vulgar and antiquatedstyle; there was a ready-made overcoat of some dark cloth, of the kindthat a clerk wears on the road to the office; there was a pair ofdetachable celluloid cuffs, and there was a linen collar and dickie. Also there was a small handcase, such as bagmen carry on their rounds. 

'That's your luggage, ' said Amos with pride. 'That wee bag's full ofsamples. Ye'll mind I took the precaution of measurin' ye in Glasgow, so the things'll fit. Ye've got a new name, Mr Brand, and I've taken aroom for ye in the hotel on the strength of it. Ye're ArchibaldMcCaskie, and ye're travellin' for the firm o' Todd, Sons & Brothers, of Edinburgh. Ye ken the folk? They publish wee releegious books, thatye've bin trying to sell for Sabbath-school prizes to the Free Kirkministers in Skye. '

The notion amused Amos, and he relapsed into the sombre chuckle whichwith him did duty for a laugh. 

I put my hat and waterproof in the bag and donned the bowler and thetop-coat. They fitted fairly well. Likewise the cuffs and collar, though here I struck a snag, for I had lost my scarf somewhere in theCoolin, and Amos, pelican-like, had to surrender the rusty black tiewhich adorned his own person. It was a queer rig, and I felt likenothing on earth in it, but Amos was satisfied. 

'Mr McCaskie, sir, ' he said, 'ye're the very model of a publisher'straveller. Ye'd better learn a few biographical details, which ye'vemaybe forgotten. Ye're an Edinburgh man, but ye were some years inLondon, which explains the way ye speak. Ye bide at 6, Russell Street, off the Meadows, and ye're an elder in the Nethergate U. F. Kirk. Haveye ony special taste ye could lead the crack on to, if ye're engaged inconversation?'

I suggested the English classics. 

'And very suitable. Ye can try poalitics, too. Ye'd better be aFree-trader but convertit by Lloyd George. That's a common case, andye'll need to be by-ordinar common ... If I was you, I would daunderabout here for a bit, and no arrive at your hotel till after dark. Thenye can have your supper and gang to bed. The Muirtown train leaves athalf-seven in the morning ... Na, ye can't come with me. It wouldna dofor us to be seen thegither. If I meet ye in the street I'll never leton I know ye. '

Amos climbed into the gig and jolted off home. I went down to the shoreand sat among the rocks, finishing about tea-time the remains of myprovisions. In the mellow gloaming I strolled into the clachan and gota boat to put me over to the inn. It proved to be a comfortable place, with a motherly old landlady who showed me to my room and promised hamand eggs and cold salmon for supper. After a good wash, which I needed, and an honest attempt to make my clothes presentable, I descended tothe meal in a coffee-room lit by a single dim parafin lamp. 

The food was excellent, and, as I ate, my spirits rose. In two days Ishould be back in London beside Blenkiron and somewhere within a day'sjourney of Mary. I could picture no scene now without thinking how Maryfitted into it. For her sake I held Biggleswick delectable, because Ihad seen her there. I wasn't sure if this was love, but it wassomething I had never dreamed of before, something which I now huggedthe thought of. It made the whole earth rosy and golden for me, andlife so well worth living that I felt like a miser towards the days tocome. 

I had about finished supper, when I was joined by another guest. Seenin the light of that infamous lamp, he seemed a small, alert fellow, with a bushy, black moustache, and black hair parted in the middle. Hehad fed already and appeared to be hungering for human society. 

In three minutes he had told me that he had come down from Portree andwas on his way to Leith. A minute later he had whipped out a card onwhich I read 'J. J. Linklater', and in the corner the name ofHatherwick Bros. His accent betrayed that he hailed from the west. 

'I've been up among the distilleries, ' he informed me. 'It's a poorbusiness distillin' in these times, wi' the teetotallers yowlin' aboutthe nation's shame and the way to lose the war. I'm a temperate manmysel', but I would think shame to spile decent folks' business. If theGovernment want to stop the drink, let them buy us out. They'vepermitted us to invest good money in the trade, and they must see thatwe get it back. The other way will wreck public credit. That's what Isay. Supposin' some Labour Government takes the notion that soap's badfor the nation? Are they goin' to shut up Port Sunlight? Or goodclothes? Or lum hats? There's no end to their daftness if they oncestart on that track. A lawfu' trade's a lawfu' trade, says I, and it'scontrary to public policy to pit it at the mercy of wheen cranks. D'yeno agree, sir? By the way, I havena got your name?'

I told him and he rambled on. 

'We're blenders and do a very high-class business, mostly foreign. Thewar's hit us wi' our export trade, of course, but we're no as bad assome. What's your line, Mr McCaskie?'

When he heard he was keenly interested. 

'D'ye say so? Ye're from Todd's! Man, I was in the book businessmysel', till I changed it for something a wee bit more lucrative. I wason the road for three years for Andrew Matheson. Ye ken thename--Paternoster Row--I've forgotten the number. I had a kind ofambition to start a book-sellin' shop of my own and to make Linklatero' Paisley a big name in the trade. But I got the offer fromHatherwick's, and I was wantin' to get married, so filthy lucre won theday. And I'm no sorry I changed. If it hadna been for this war, I wouldhave been makin' four figures with my salary and commissions ... Mypipe's out. Have you one of those rare and valuable curiosities calleda spunk, Mr McCaskie?'

He was a merry little grig of a man, and he babbled on, till Iannounced my intention of going to bed. If this was Amos's bagman, whohad been seen in company with Gresson, I understood how idle may be thesuspicions of a clever man. He had probably foregathered with Gressonon the Skye boat, and wearied that saturnine soul with his cackle. 

I was up betimes, paid my bill, ate a breakfast of porridge and freshhaddock, and walked the few hundred yards to the station. It was awarm, thick morning, with no sun visible, and the Skye hills misty totheir base. The three coaches on the little train were nearly filledwhen I had bought my ticket, and I selected a third-class smokingcarriage which held four soldiers returning from leave. 

The train was already moving when a late passenger hurried along theplatform and clambered in beside me. A cheery 'Mornin', Mr McCaskie, 'revealed my fellow guest at the hotel. 

We jolted away from the coast up a broad glen and then on to a wideexpanse of bog with big hills showing towards the north. It was adrowsy day, and in that atmosphere of shag and crowded humanity I feltmy eyes closing. I had a short nap, and woke to find that Mr Linklaterhad changed his seat and was now beside me. 

'We'll no get a Scotsman till Muirtown, ' he said. 'Have ye nothing inyour samples ye could give me to read?'

I had forgotten about the samples. I opened the case and found theoddest collection of little books, all in gay bindings. Some werereligious, with names like _Dew of Hermon_ and _Cool Siloam_; some wereinnocent narratives, _How Tommy saved his Pennies_, _A Missionary Childin China_, and _Little Susie and her Uncle_. There was a _Life of DavidLivingstone_, a child's book on sea-shells, and a richly gilt editionof the poems of one James Montgomery. I offered the selection to MrLinklater, who grinned and chose the Missionary Child. 'It's not thereading I'm accustomed to, ' he said. 'I like strong meat--Hall Caineand Jack London. By the way, how d'ye square this business of yours wi'the booksellers? When I was in Matheson's there would have been troubleif we had dealt direct wi' the public like you. '

The confounded fellow started to talk about the details of the booktrade, of which I knew nothing. He wanted to know on what terms we sold'juveniles', and what discount we gave the big wholesalers, and whatclass of book we put out 'on sale'. I didn't understand a word of hisjargon, and I must have given myself away badly, for he asked mequestions about firms of which I had never heard, and I had to makesome kind of answer. I told myself that the donkey was harmless, andthat his opinion of me mattered nothing, but as soon as I decentlycould I pretended to be absorbed in the _Pilgrim's Progress_, a gaudycopy of which was among the samples. It opened at the episode ofChristian and Hopeful in the Enchanted Ground, and in that stuffycarriage I presently followed the example of Heedless and Too-Bold andfell sound asleep. I was awakened by the train rumbling over the pointsof a little moorland junction. Sunk in a pleasing lethargy, I sat withmy eyes closed, and then covertly took a glance at my companion. He hadabandoned the Missionary Child and was reading a little dun-colouredbook, and marking passages with a pencil. His face was absorbed, and itwas a new face, not the vacant, good-humoured look of the garrulousbagman, but something shrewd, purposeful, and formidable. I remainedhunched up as if still sleeping, and tried to see what the book was. But my eyes, good as they are, could make out nothing of the text ortitle, except that I had a very strong impression that that book wasnot written in the English tongue. 

I woke abruptly, and leaned over to him. Quick as lightning he slid hispencil up his sleeve and turned on me with a fatuous smile. 

'What d'ye make o' this, Mr McCaskie? It's a wee book I picked up at aroup along with fifty others. I paid five shillings for the lot. Itlooks like Gairman, but in my young days they didna teach us foreignlanguages. '

I took the thing and turned over the pages, trying to keep any sign ofintelligence out of my face. It was German right enough, a littlemanual of hydrography with no publisher's name on it. It had the lookof the kind of textbook a Government department might issue to itsofficials. 

I handed it back. 'It's either German or Dutch. I'm not much of ascholar, barring a little French and the Latin I got at Heriot'sHospital ... This is an awful slow train, Mr Linklater. '

The soldiers were playing nap, and the bagman proposed a game of cards. I remembered in time that I was an elder in the Nethergate U. F. Churchand refused with some asperity. After that I shut my eyes again, for Iwanted to think out this new phenomenon. 

The fellow knew German--that was clear. He had also been seen inGresson's company. I didn't believe he suspected me, though I suspectedhim profoundly. It was my business to keep strictly to my part and givehim no cause to doubt me. He was clearly practising his own part on me, and I must appear to take him literally on his professions. So, presently, I woke up and engaged him in a disputatious conversationabout the morality of selling strong liquors. He responded readily, andput the case for alcohol with much point and vehemence. The discussioninterested the soldiers, and one of them, to show he was on Linklater'sside, produced a flask and offered him a drink. I concluded byobserving morosely that the bagman had been a better man when hepeddled books for Alexander Matheson, and that put the closure on thebusiness. 

That train was a record. It stopped at every station, and in theafternoon it simply got tired and sat down in the middle of a moor andreflected for an hour. I stuck my head out of the window now and then, and smelt the rooty fragrance of bogs, and when we halted on a bridge Iwatched the trout in the pools of the brown river. Then I slept andsmoked alternately, and began to get furiously hungry. 

Once I woke to hear the soldiers discussing the war. There was anargument between a lance-corporal in the Camerons and a sapper privateabout some trivial incident on the Somme. 

'I tell ye I was there, ' said the Cameron. 'We were relievin' the BlackWatch, and Fritz was shelling the road, and we didna get up to the linetill one o'clock in the mornin'. Frae Frickout Circus to the south endo' the High Wood is every bit o' five mile. '

'Not abune three, ' said the sapper dogmatically. 

'Man, I've trampit it. '

'Same here. I took up wire every nicht for a week. '

The Cameron looked moodily round the company. 'I wish there was anitherman here that kent the place. He wad bear me out. These boys are nogood, for they didna join till later. I tell ye it's five mile. '

'Three, ' said the sapper. 

Tempers were rising, for each of the disputants felt his veracityassailed. It was too hot for a quarrel and I was so drowsy that I washeedless. 

'Shut up, you fools, ' I said. 'The distance is six kilometres, soyou're both wrong. '

My tone was so familiar to the men that it stopped the wrangle, but itwas not the tone of a publisher's traveller. Mr Linklater cocked hisears. 

'What's a kilometre, Mr McCaskie?' he asked blandly. 

'Multiply by five and divide by eight and you get the miles. '

I was on my guard now, and told a long story of a nephew who had beenkilled on the Somme, and how I had corresponded with the War Officeabout his case. 'Besides, ' I said, 'I'm a great student o' thenewspapers, and I've read all the books about the war. It's a difficulttime this for us all, and if you can take a serious interest in thecampaign it helps a lot. I mean working out the places on the map andreading Haig's dispatches. '

'Just so, ' he said dryly, and I thought he watched me with an odd lookin his eyes. 

A fresh idea possessed me. This man had been in Gresson's company, heknew German, he was obviously something very different from what heprofessed to be. What if he were in the employ of our own SecretService? I had appeared out of the void at the Kyle, and I had made buta poor appearance as a bagman, showing no knowledge of my own trade. Iwas in an area interdicted to the ordinary public; and he had goodreason to keep an eye on my movements. He was going south, and so wasI; clearly we must somehow part company. 

'We change at Muirtown, don't we?' I asked. 'When does the train forthe south leave?'

He consulted a pocket timetable. 'Ten-thirty-three. There's generallyfour hours to wait, for we're due in at six-fifteen. But this auldhearse will be lucky if it's in by nine. '

His forecast was correct. We rumbled out of the hills into haughlandsand caught a glimpse of the North Sea. Then we were hung up while along goods train passed down the line. It was almost dark when at lastwe crawled into Muirtown station and disgorged our load of hot andweary soldiery. 

I bade an ostentatious farewell to Linklater. 'Very pleased to have metyou. I'll see you later on the Edinburgh train. I'm for a walk tostretch my legs, and a bite o' supper. ' I was very determined that theten-thirty for the south should leave without me. 

My notion was to get a bed and a meal in some secluded inn, and walkout next morning and pick up a slow train down the line. Linklater haddisappeared towards the guard's van to find his luggage, and thesoldiers were sitting on their packs with that air of being utterly andfinally lost and neglected which characterizes the British fighting-manon a journey. I gave up my ticket and, since I had come off a northerntrain, walked unhindered into the town. 

It was market night, and the streets were crowded. Blue-jackets fromthe Fleet, country-folk in to shop, and every kind of military detailthronged the pavements. Fish-hawkers were crying their wares, and therewas a tatterdemalion piper making the night hideous at a corner. I tooka tortuous route and finally fixed on a modest-looking public-house ina back street. When I inquired for a room I could find no one inauthority, but a slatternly girl informed me that there was one vacantbed, and that I could have ham and eggs in the bar. So, after hittingmy head violently against a cross-beam, I stumbled down some steps andentered a frowsty little place smelling of spilt beer and stale tobacco. 

The promised ham and eggs proved impossible--there were no eggs to behad in Muirtown that night--but I was given cold mutton and a pint ofindifferent ale. There was nobody in the place but two farmers drinkinghot whisky and water and discussing with sombre interest the rise inthe price of feeding-stuffs. I ate my supper, and was just preparing tofind the whereabouts of my bedroom when through the street door thereentered a dozen soldiers. 

In a second the quiet place became a babel. The men were strictlysober; but they were in that temper of friendliness which demands alibation of some kind. One was prepared to stand treat; he was theleader of the lot, and it was to celebrate the end of his leave that hewas entertaining his pals. From where I sat I could not see him, buthis voice was dominant. 'What's your fancy, jock? Beer for you, Andra?A pint and a dram for me. This is better than vongblong and vongrooge, Davie. Man, when I'm sittin' in those estamints, as they ca' them, Ioften long for a guid Scots public. '

The voice was familiar. I shifted my seat to get a view of the speaker, and then I hastily drew back. It was the Scots Fusilier I had clippedon the jaw in defending Gresson after the Glasgow meeting. 

But by a strange fatality he had caught sight of me. 

'Whae's that i' the corner?' he cried, leaving the bar to stare at me. Now it is a queer thing, but if you have once fought with a man, thoughonly for a few seconds, you remember his face, and the scrap in Glasgowhad been under a lamp. The jock recognized me well enough. 

'By God!' he cried, 'if this is no a bit o' luck! Boys, here's the manI feucht wi' in Glesca. Ye mind I telled ye about it. He laid me oot, and it's my turn to do the same wi' him. I had a notion I was gaun tomak' a nicht o't. There's naebody can hit Geordie Hamilton withoutGeordie gettin' his ain back some day. Get up, man, for I'm gaun toknock the heid off ye. '

I duly got up, and with the best composure I could muster looked him inthe face. 

'You're mistaken, my friend. I never clapped eyes on you before, and Inever was in Glasgow in my life. '

'That's a damned lee, ' said the Fusilier. 'Ye're the man, and if ye'reno, ye're like enough him to need a hidin'!'

'Confound your nonsense!' I said. 'I've no quarrel with you, and I'vebetter things to do than be scrapping with a stranger in apublic-house. '

'Have ye sae? Well, I'll learn ye better. I'm gaun to hit ye, and thenye'll hae to fecht whether ye want it or no. Tam, haud my jacket, andsee that my drink's no skailed. '

This was an infernal nuisance, for a row here would bring in thepolice, and my dubious position would be laid bare. I thought ofputting up a fight, for I was certain I could lay out the jock a secondtime, but the worst of that was that I did not know where the thingwould end. I might have to fight the lot of them, and that meant anoble public shindy. I did my best to speak my opponent fair. I said wewere all good friends and offered to stand drinks for the party. Butthe Fusilier's blood was up and he was spoiling for a row, ably abettedby his comrades. He had his tunic off now and was stamping in front ofme with doubled fists. 

I did the best thing I could think of in the circumstances. My seat wasclose to the steps which led to the other part of the inn. I grabbed myhat, darted up them, and before they realized what I was doing hadbolted the door behind me. I could hear pandemonium break loose in thebar. 

I slipped down a dark passage to another which ran at right angles toit, and which seemed to connect the street door of the inn itself withthe back premises. I could hear voices in the little hall, and thatstopped me short. 

One of them was Linklater's, but he was not talking as Linklater hadtalked. He was speaking educated English. I heard another with a Scotsaccent, which I took to be the landlord's, and a third which soundedlike some superior sort of constable's, very prompt and official. Iheard one phrase, too, from Linklater--'He calls himself McCaskie. 'Then they stopped, for the turmoil from the bar had reached the frontdoor. The Fusilier and his friends were looking for me by the otherentrance. 

The attention of the men in the hall was distracted, and that gave me achance. There was nothing for it but the back door. I slipped throughit into a courtyard and almost tumbled over a tub of water. I plantedthe thing so that anyone coming that way would fall over it. A door ledme into an empty stable, and from that into a lane. It was all absurdlyeasy, but as I started down the lane I heard a mighty row and the soundof angry voices. Someone had gone into the tub and I hoped it wasLinklater. I had taken a liking to the Fusilier jock. 

There was the beginning of a moon somewhere, but that lane was verydark. I ran to the left, for on the right it looked like a cul-de-sac. This brought me into a quiet road of two-storied cottages which showedat one end the lights of a street. So I took the other way, for Iwasn't going to have the whole population of Muirtown on thehue-and-cry after me. I came into a country lane, and I also came intothe van of the pursuit, which must have taken a short cut. They shoutedwhen they saw me, but I had a small start, and legged it down that roadin the belief that I was making for open country. 

That was where I was wrong. The road took me round to the other side ofthe town, and just when I was beginning to think I had a fair chance Isaw before me the lights of a signal-box and a little to the left of itthe lights of the station. In half an hour's time the Edinburgh trainwould be leaving, but I had made that impossible. Behind me I couldhear the pursuers, giving tongue like hound puppies, for they hadattracted some pretty drunken gentlemen to their party. I was badlypuzzled where to turn, when I noticed outside the station a long lineof blurred lights, which could only mean a train with the carriageblinds down. It had an engine attached and seemed to be waiting for theaddition of a couple of trucks to start. It was a wild chance, but theonly one I saw. I scrambled across a piece of waste ground, climbed anembankment and found myself on the metals. I ducked under the couplingsand got on the far side of the train, away from the enemy. 

Then simultaneously two things happened. I heard the yells of mypursuers a dozen yards off, and the train jolted into motion. I jumpedon the footboard, and looked into an open window. The compartment waspacked with troops, six a side and two men sitting on the floor, andthe door was locked. I dived headforemost through the window and landedon the neck of a weary warrior who had just dropped off to sleep. 

While I was falling I made up my mind on my conduct. I must beintoxicated, for I knew the infinite sympathy of the British soldiertowards those thus overtaken. They pulled me to my feet, and the man Ihad descended on rubbed his skull and blasphemously demandedexplanations. 

'Gen'lmen, ' I hiccoughed, 'I 'pologize. I was late for this bl-blightedtrain and I mus' be in E'inburgh 'morrow or I'll get the sack. I'pologize. If I've hurt my friend's head, I'll kiss it and make itwell. '

At this there was a great laugh. 'Ye'd better accept, Pete, ' said one. 'It's the first time anybody ever offered to kiss your ugly heid. '

A man asked me who I was, and I appeared to be searching for acard-case. 

'Losht, ' I groaned. 'Losht, and so's my wee bag and I've bashed my po'hat. I'm an awful sight, gen'lmen--an awful warning to be in time fortrains. I'm John Johnstone, managing clerk to Messrs Watters, Brown &Elph'stone, 923 Charl'tte Street, E'inburgh. I've been up north seein'my mamma. '

'Ye should be in France, ' said one man. 

'Wish't I was, but they wouldn't let me. "Mr Johnstone, " they said, "ye're no dam good. Ye've varicose veins and a bad heart, " they said. So I says, "Good mornin', gen'lmen. Don't blame me if the country'sru'ned". That's what I said. '

I had by this time occupied the only remaining space left on the floor. With the philosophy of their race the men had accepted my presence, andwere turning again to their own talk. The train had got up speed, andas I judged it to be a special of some kind I looked for few stoppings. Moreover it was not a corridor carriage, but one of the old-fashionedkind, so I was safe for a time from the unwelcome attention ofconductors. I stretched my legs below the seat, rested my head againstthe knees of a brawny gunner, and settled down to make the best of it. 

My reflections were not pleasant. I had got down too far below thesurface, and had the naked feeling you get in a dream when you thinkyou have gone to the theatre in your nightgown. I had had three namesin two days, and as many characters. I felt as if I had no home orposition anywhere, and was only a stray dog with everybody's hand andfoot against me. It was an ugly sensation, and it was not redeemed byany acute fear or any knowledge of being mixed up in some desperatedrama. I knew I could easily go on to Edinburgh, and when the policemade trouble, as they would, a wire to Scotland Yard would settlematters in a couple of hours. There wasn't a suspicion of bodily dangerto restore my dignity. The worst that could happen would be that Iverywould hear of my being befriended by the authorities, and the part Ihad settled to play would be impossible. He would certainly hear. I hadthe greatest respect for his intelligence service. 

Yet that was bad enough. So far I had done well. I had put Gresson offthe scent. I had found out what Bullivant wanted to know, and I hadonly to return unostentatiously to London to have won out on the game. I told myself all that, but it didn't cheer my spirits. I was feelingmean and hunted and very cold about the feet. 

But I have a tough knuckle of obstinacy in me which makes me unwillingto give up a thing till I am fairly choked off it. The chances werebadly against me. The Scottish police were actively interested in mymovements and would be ready to welcome me at my journey's end. I hadruined my hat, and my clothes, as Amos had observed, were notrespectable. I had got rid of a four-days' beard the night before, buthad cut myself in the process, and what with my weather-beaten face andtangled hair looked liker a tinker than a decent bagman. I thought withlonging of my portmanteau in the Pentland Hotel, Edinburgh, and theneat blue serge suit and the clean linen that reposed in it. It was nocase for a subtle game, for I held no cards. Still I was determined notto chuck in my hand till I was forced to. If the train stopped anywhereI would get out, and trust to my own wits and the standing luck of theBritish Army for the rest. 

The chance came just after dawn, when we halted at a little junction. Igot up yawning and tried to open the door, till I remembered it waslocked. Thereupon I stuck my legs out of the window on the side awayfrom the platform, and was immediately seized upon by a sleepy Seaforthwho thought I contemplated suicide. 

'Let me go, ' I said. 'I'll be back in a jiffy. '

'Let him gang, jock, ' said another voice. 'Ye ken what a man's likewhen he's been on the bash. The cauld air'll sober him. '

I was released, and after some gymnastics dropped on the metals andmade my way round the rear of the train. As I clambered on the platformit began to move, and a face looked out of one of the back carriages. It was Linklater and he recognized me. He tried to get out, but thedoor was promptly slammed by an indignant porter. I heard him protest, and he kept his head out till the train went round the curve. Thatcooked my goose all right. He would wire to the police from the nextstation. 

Meantime in that clean, bare, chilly place there was only onetraveller. He was a slim young man, with a kit-bag and a gun-case. Hisclothes were beautiful, a green Homburg hat, a smart green tweedovercoat, and boots as brightly polished as a horse chestnut. I caughthis profile as he gave up his ticket and to my amazement I recognizedit. 

The station-master looked askance at me as I presented myself, dilapidated and dishevelled, to the official gaze. I tried to speak ina tone of authority. 

'Who is the man who has just gone out?'

'Whaur's your ticket?'

'I had no time to get one at Muirtown, and as you see I have left myluggage behind me. Take it out of that pound and I'll come back for thechange. I want to know if that was Sir Archibald Roylance. '

He looked suspiciously at the note. 'I think that's the name. He's acaptain up at the Fleein' School. What was ye wantin' with him?'

I charged through the booking-office and found my man about to enter abig grey motor-car. 

'Archie, ' I cried and beat him on the shoulders. 

He turned round sharply. 'What the devil--! Who are you?' And thenrecognition crept into his face and he gave a joyous shout. 'My holyaunt! The General disguised as Charlie Chaplin! Can I drive youanywhere, sir?'

CHAPTER NINE

I Take the Wings of a Dove

'Drive me somewhere to breakfast, Archie, ' I said, 'for I'm perishinghungry. '

He and I got into the tonneau, and the driver swung us out of thestation road up a long incline of hill. Sir Archie had been one of mysubalterns in the old Lennox Highlanders, and had left us before theSomme to join the Flying Corps. I had heard that he had got his wingsand had done well before Arras, and was now training pilots at home. Hehad been a light-hearted youth, who had endured a good deal ofrough-tonguing from me for his sins of omission. But it was the casualclass of lad I was looking for now. 

I saw him steal amused glances at my appearance. 

'Been seein' a bit of life, sir?' he inquired respectfully. 

'I'm being hunted by the police, ' I said. 

'Dirty dogs! But don't worry, sir; we'll get you off all right. I'vebeen in the same fix myself. You can lie snug in my little log hut, forthat old image Gibbons won't blab. Or, tell you what, I've got an auntwho lives near here and she's a bit of a sportsman. You can hide in hermoated grange till the bobbies get tired. '

I think it was Archie's calm acceptance of my position as natural andbecoming that restored my good temper. He was far too well bred to askwhat crime I had committed, and I didn't propose to enlighten him much. But as we swung up the moorland road I let him know that I was servingthe Government, but that it was necessary that I should appear to beunauthenticated and that therefore I must dodge the police. He whistledhis appreciation. 

'Gad, that's a deep game. Sort of camouflage? Speaking from myexperience it is easy to overdo that kind of stunt. When I was atMisieux the French started out to camouflage the caravans where theykeep their pigeons, and they did it so damned well that the poor littlebirds couldn't hit 'em off, and spent the night out. '

We entered the white gates of a big aerodrome, skirted a forest oftents and huts, and drew up at a shanty on the far confines of theplace. The hour was half past four, and the world was still asleep. Archie nodded towards one of the hangars, from the mouth of whichprojected the propeller end of an aeroplane. 

'I'm by way of flyin' that bus down to Farnton tomorrow, ' he remarked. 'It's the new Shark-Gladas. Got a mouth like a tree. '

An idea flashed into my mind. 

'You're going this morning, ' I said. 

'How did you know?' he exclaimed. 'I'm due to go today, but the grouseup in Caithness wanted shootin' so badly that I decided to wangleanother day's leave. They can't expect a man to start for the south ofEngland when he's just off a frowsy journey. '

'All the same you're going to be a stout fellow and start in two hours'time. And you're going to take me with you. '

He stared blankly, and then burst into a roar of laughter. 'You're theman to go tiger-shootin' with. But what price my commandant? He's not abad chap, but a trifle shaggy about the fetlocks. He won't appreciatethe joke. '

'He needn't know. He mustn't know. This is an affair between you and metill it's finished. I promise you I'll make it all square with theFlying Corps. Get me down to Farnton before evening, and you'll havedone a good piece of work for the country. '

'Right-o! Let's have a tub and a bit of breakfast, and then I'm yourman. I'll tell them to get the bus ready. '

In Archie's bedroom I washed and shaved and borrowed a green tweed capand a brand-new Aquascutum. The latter covered the deficiencies of myraiment, and when I commandeered a pair of gloves I felt almostrespectable. Gibbons, who seemed to be a jack-of-all-trades, cooked ussome bacon and an omelette, and as he ate Archie yarned. In thebattalion his conversation had been mostly of race-meetings and theforsaken delights of town, but now he had forgotten all that, and, likeevery good airman I have ever known, wallowed enthusiastically in'shop'. I have a deep respect for the Flying Corps, but it is apt tochange its jargon every month, and its conversation is hard for thelayman to follow. He was desperately keen about the war, which he sawwholly from the viewpoint of the air. Arras to him was over before theinfantry crossed the top, and the tough bit of the Somme was October, not September. He calculated that the big air-fighting had not comealong yet, and all he hoped for was to be allowed out to France to havehis share in it. Like all good airmen, too, he was very modest abouthimself. 'I've done a bit of steeple-chasin' and huntin' and I've goodhands for a horse, so I can handle a bus fairly well. It's all a matterof hands, you know. There ain't half the risk of the infantry downbelow you, and a million times the fun. Jolly glad I changed, sir. '

We talked of Peter, and he put him about top. Voss, he thought, was theonly Boche that could compare with him, for he hadn't made up his mindabout Lensch. The Frenchman Guynemer he ranked high, but in a differentway. I remember he had no respect for Richthofen and his celebratedcircus. 

At six sharp we were ready to go. A couple of mechanics had got out themachine, and Archie put on his coat and gloves and climbed into thepilot's seat, while I squeezed in behind in the observer's place. Theaerodrome was waking up, but I saw no officers about. We were scarcelyseated when Gibbons called our attention to a motor-car on the road, and presently we heard a shout and saw men waving in our direction. 

'Better get off, my lad, ' I said. 'These look like my friends. '

The engine started and the mechanics stood clear. As we taxied over theturf I looked back and saw several figures running in our direction. The next second we had left the bumpy earth for the smooth highroad ofthe air. 

I had flown several dozen times before, generally over the enemy lineswhen I wanted to see for myself how the land lay. Then we had flownlow, and been nicely dusted by the Hun Archies, not to speak of anoccasional machine-gun. But never till that hour had I realized the joyof a straight flight in a swift plane in perfect weather. Archie didn'tlose time. Soon the hangars behind looked like a child's toys, and theworld ran away from us till it seemed like a great golden bowl spillingover with the quintessence of light. The air was cold and my handsnumbed, but I never felt them. As we throbbed and tore southward, sometimes bumping in eddies, sometimes swimming evenly in a stream ofmotionless ether, my head and heart grew as light as a boy's. I forgotall about the vexations of my job and saw only its joyful comedy. Ididn't think that anything on earth could worry me again. Far to theleft was a wedge of silver and beside it a cluster of toy houses. Thatmust be Edinburgh, where reposed my portmanteau, and where a mostefficient police force was now inquiring for me. At the thought Ilaughed so loud that Archie must have heard me. He turned round, saw mygrinning face, and grinned back. Then he signalled to me to strapmyself in. I obeyed, and he proceeded to practise 'stunts'--the loop, the spinning nose-dive, and others I didn't know the names of. It wasglorious fun, and he handled his machine as a good rider coaxes anervous horse over a stiff hurdle. He had that extra something in hisblood that makes the great pilot. 

Presently the chessboard of green and brown had changed to a deeppurple with faint silvery lines like veins in a rock. We were crossingthe Border hills, the place where I had legged it for weary days when Iwas mixed up in the Black Stone business. What a marvellous element wasthis air, which took one far above the fatigues of humanity! Archie haddone well to change. Peter had been the wise man. I felt a tremendouspity for my old friend hobbling about a German prison-yard, when he hadonce flown a hawk. I reflected that I had wasted my life hitherto. Andthen I remembered that all this glory had only one use in war and thatwas to help the muddy British infantryman to down his Hun opponent. Hewas the fellow, after all, that decided battles, and the thoughtcomforted me. 

A great exhilaration is often the precursor of disaster, and mine wasto have a sudden downfall. It was getting on for noon and we were wellinto England--I guessed from the rivers we had passed that we weresomewhere in the north of Yorkshire--when the machine began to make oddsounds, and we bumped in perfectly calm patches of air. We dived andthen climbed, but the confounded thing kept sputtering. Archie passedback a slip of paper on which he had scribbled: 'Engine conked. Mustland at Micklegill. Very sorry. ' So we dropped to a lower elevationwhere we could see clearly the houses and roads and the long swellingridges of a moorland country. I could never have found my way about, but Archie's practised eye knew every landmark. We were trundling alongvery slowly now, and even I was soon able to pick up the hangars of abig aerodrome. 

We made Micklegill, but only by the skin of our teeth. We were so lowthat the smoky chimneys of the city of Bradfield seven miles to theeast were half hidden by a ridge of down. Archie achieved a cleverdescent in the lee of a belt of firs, and got out full of imprecationsagainst the Gladas engine. 'I'll go up to the camp and report, ' hesaid, 'and send mechanics down to tinker this darned gramophone. You'dbetter go for a walk, sir. I don't want to answer questions about youtill we're ready to start. I reckon it'll be an hour's job. '

The cheerfulness I had acquired in the upper air still filled me. I satdown in a ditch, as merry as a sand-boy, and lit a pipe. I waspossessed by a boyish spirit of casual adventure, and waited on thenext turn of fortune's wheel with only a pleasant amusement. 

That turn was not long in coming. Archie appeared very breathless. 

'Look here, sir, there's the deuce of a row up there. They've beenwirin' about you all over the country, and they know you're with me. They've got the police, and they'll have you in five minutes if youdon't leg it. I lied like billy-o and said I had never heard of you, but they're comin' to see for themselves. For God's sake get off ... You'd better keep in cover down that hollow and round the back of thesetrees. I'll stay here and try to brazen it out. I'll get strafed toblazes anyhow ... I hope you'll get me out of the scrape, sir. '

'Don't you worry, my lad, ' I said. 'I'll make it all square when I getback to town. I'll make for Bradfield, for this place is a bitconspicuous. Goodbye, Archie. You're a good chap and I'll see you don'tsuffer. '

I started off down the hollow of the moor, trying to make speed atonefor lack of strategy, for it was hard to know how much my pursuerscommanded from that higher ground. They must have seen me, for I heardwhistles blown and men's cries. I struck a road, crossed it, and passeda ridge from which I had a view of Bradfield six miles off. And as Iran I began to reflect that this kind of chase could not last long. They were bound to round me up in the next half-hour unless I couldpuzzle them. But in that bare green place there was no cover, and itlooked as if my chances were pretty much those of a hare coursed by agood greyhound on a naked moor. 

Suddenly from just in front of me came a familiar sound. It was theroar of guns--the slam of field-batteries and the boom of smallhowitzers. I wondered if I had gone off my head. As I plodded on therattle of machine-guns was added, and over the ridge before me I sawthe dust and fumes of bursting shells. I concluded that I was not mad, and that therefore the Germans must have landed. I crawled up the lastslope, quite forgetting the pursuit behind me. 

And then I'm blessed if I did not look down on a veritable battle. 

There were two sets of trenches with barbed wire and all the fixings, one set filled with troops and the other empty. On these latter shellswere bursting, but there was no sign of life in them. In the otherlines there seemed the better part of two brigades, and the firsttrench was stiff with bayonets. My first thought was that Home Forceshad gone dotty, for this kind of show could have no sort of trainingvalue. And then I saw other things--cameras and camera-men on platformson the flanks, and men with megaphones behind them on woodenscaffoldings. One of the megaphones was going full blast all the time. 

I saw the meaning of the performance at last. Some movie-merchant hadgot a graft with the Government, and troops had been turned out to makea war film. It occurred to me that if I were mixed up in that push Imight get the cover I was looking for. I scurried down the hill to thenearest camera-man. 

As I ran, the first wave of troops went over the top. They did ituncommon well, for they entered into the spirit of the thing, and wentover with grim faces and that slow, purposeful lope that I had seen inmy own fellows at Arras. Smoke grenades burst among them, and now andthen some resourceful mountebank would roll over. Altogether it wasabout the best show I have ever seen. The cameras clicked, the gunsbanged, a background of boy scouts applauded, and the dust rose inbillows to the sky. 

But all the same something was wrong. I could imagine that this kind ofbusiness took a good deal of planning from the point of view of themovie-merchant, for his purpose was not the same as that of the officerin command. You know how a photographer finicks about and isdissatisfied with a pose that seems all right to his sitter. I shouldhave thought the spectacle enough to get any cinema audience off theirfeet, but the man on the scaffolding near me judged differently. Hemade his megaphone boom like the swan-song of a dying buffalo. Hewanted to change something and didn't know how to do it. He hopped onone leg; he took the megaphone from his mouth to curse; he waved itlike a banner and yelled at some opposite number on the other flank. And then his patience forsook him and he skipped down the ladder, dropping his megaphone, past the camera-men, on to the battlefield. 

That was his undoing. He got in the way of the second wave and wasswallowed up like a leaf in a torrent. For a moment I saw a red faceand a loud-checked suit, and the rest was silence. He was carried onover the hill, or rolled into an enemy trench, but anyhow he was lostto my ken. 

I bagged his megaphone and hopped up the steps to the platform. At lastI saw a chance of first-class cover, for with Archie's coat and cap Imade a very good appearance as a movie-merchant. Two waves had goneover the top, and the cinema-men, working like beavers, had filmed thelot. But there was still a fair amount of troops to play with, and Idetermined to tangle up that outfit so that the fellows who were afterme would have better things to think about. 

My advantage was that I knew how to command men. I could see that myopposite number with the megaphone was helpless, for the mistake whichhad swept my man into a shell-hole had reduced him to impotence. Thetroops seemed to be mainly in charge of N. C. O. S (I could imagine thatthe officers would try to shirk this business), and an N. C. O. Is themost literal creature on earth. So with my megaphone I proceeded tochange the battle order. 

I brought up the third wave to the front trenches. In about threeminutes the men had recognized the professional touch and were movingsmartly to my orders. They thought it was part of the show, and theobedient cameras clicked at everything that came into their orbit. Myaim was to deploy the troops on too narrow a front so that they werebound to fan outward, and I had to be quick about it, for I didn't knowwhen the hapless movie-merchant might be retrieved from thebattle-field and dispute my authority. 

It takes a long time to straighten a thing out, but it does not takelong to tangle it, especially when the thing is so delicate a machineas disciplined troops. In about eight minutes I had produced chaos. Theflanks spread out, in spite of all the shepherding of the N. C. O. S, andthe fringe engulfed the photographers. The cameras on their littleplatforms went down like ninepins. It was solemn to see the startledface of a photographer, taken unawares, supplicating the purposefulinfantry, before he was swept off his feet into speechlessness. 

It was no place for me to linger in, so I chucked away the megaphoneand got mixed up with the tail of the third wave. I was swept on andcame to anchor in the enemy trenches, where I found, as I expected, myprofane and breathless predecessor, the movie-merchant. I had nothingto say to him, so I stuck to the trench till it ended against the slopeof the hill. 

On that flank, delirious with excitement, stood a knot of boy scouts. My business was to get to Bradfield as quick as my legs would take me, and as inconspicuously as the gods would permit. Unhappily I was fartoo great an object of interest to that nursery of heroes. Every boyscout is an amateur detective and hungry for knowledge. I was followedby several, who plied me with questions, and were told that I was offto Bradfield to hurry up part of the cinema outfit. It sounded lameenough, for that cinema outfit was already past praying for. 

We reached the road and against a stone wall stood several bicycles. Iselected one and prepared to mount. 

'That's Mr Emmott's machine, ' said one boy sharply. 'He told me to keepan eye on it. '

'I must borrow it, sonny, ' I said. 'Mr Emmott's my very good friend andwon't object. '

From the place where we stood I overlooked the back of the battle-fieldand could see an anxious congress of officers. I could see others, too, whose appearance I did not like. They had not been there when Ioperated on the megaphone. They must have come downhill from theaerodrome and in all likelihood were the pursuers I had avoided. Theexhilaration which I had won in the air and which had carried me intothe tomfoolery of the past half-hour was ebbing. I had the huntedfeeling once more, and grew middle-aged and cautious. I had a baddishrecord for the day, what with getting Archie into a scrape and bustingup an official cinema show--neither consistent with the duties of abrigadier-general. Besides, I had still to get to London. 

I had not gone two hundred yards down the road when a boy scout, pedalling furiously, came up abreast me. 

'Colonel Edgeworth wants to see you, ' he panted. 'You're to come backat once. '

'Tell him I can't wait now, ' I said. 'I'll pay my respects to him in anhour. '

'He said you were to come at once, ' said the faithful messenger. 'He'sin an awful temper with you, and he's got bobbies with him. '

I put on pace and left the boy behind. I reckoned I had the better partof two miles' start and could beat anything except petrol. But myenemies were bound to have cars, so I had better get off the road assoon as possible. I coasted down a long hill to a bridge which spanneda small discoloured stream that flowed in a wooded glen. There wasnobody for the moment on the hill behind me, so I slipped into thecovert, shoved the bicycle under the bridge, and hid Archie'saquascutum in a bramble thicket. I was now in my own disreputabletweeds and I hoped that the shedding of my most conspicuous garmentwould puzzle my pursuers if they should catch up with me. 

But this I was determined they should not do. I made good going downthat stream and out into a lane which led from the downs to themarket-gardens round the city. I thanked Heaven I had got rid of theaquascutum, for the August afternoon was warm and my pace was notleisurely. When I was in secluded ground I ran, and when anyone was insight I walked smartly. 

As I went I reflected that Bradfield would see the end of myadventures. The police knew that I was there and would watch thestations and hunt me down if I lingered in the place. I knew no onethere and had no chance of getting an effective disguise. Indeed I verysoon began to wonder if I should get even as far as the streets. For atthe moment when I had got a lift on the back of a fishmonger's cart andwas screened by its flapping canvas, two figures passed onmotor-bicycles, and one of them was the inquisitive boy scout. The mainroad from the aerodrome was probably now being patrolled by motor-cars. It looked as if there would be a degrading arrest in one of the suburbs. 

The fish-cart, helped by half a crown to the driver, took me past theoutlying small-villadom, between long lines of workmen's houses, tonarrow cobbled lanes and the purlieus of great factories. As soon as Isaw the streets well crowded I got out and walked. In my old clothes Imust have appeared like some second-class bookie or seedy horse-coper. The only respectable thing I had about me was my gold watch. I lookedat the time and found it half past five. 

I wanted food and was casting about for an eating-house when I heardthe purr of a motor-cycle and across the road saw the intelligent boyscout. He saw me, too, and put on the brake with a sharpness whichcaused him to skid and all but come to grief under the wheels of awool-wagon. That gave me time to efface myself by darting up a sidestreet. I had an unpleasant sense that I was about to be trapped, forin a place I knew nothing of I had not a chance to use my wits. 

I remember trying feverishly to think, and I suppose that mypreoccupation made me careless. I was now in a veritable slum, and whenI put my hand to my vest pocket I found that my watch had gone. Thatput the top stone on my depression. The reaction from the wild burnoutof the forenoon had left me very cold about the feet. I was gettinginto the under-world again and there was no chance of a second ArchieRoylance turning up to rescue me. I remember yet the sour smell of thefactories and the mist of smoke in the evening air. It is a smell Ihave never met since without a sort of dulling of spirit. 

Presently I came out into a market-place. Whistles were blowing, andthere was a great hurrying of people back from the mills. The crowdgave me a momentary sense of security, and I was just about to inquiremy way to the railway station when someone jostled my arm. 

A rough-looking fellow in mechanic's clothes was beside me. 

'Mate, ' he whispered. 'I've got summat o' yours here. ' And to myamazement he slipped my watch into my hand. 

'It was took by mistake. We're friends o' yours. You're right enough ifyou do what I tell you. There's a peeler over there got his eye on you. Follow me and I'll get you off. '

I didn't much like the man's looks, but I had no choice, and anyhow hehad given me back my watch. He sidled into an alley between tall housesand I sidled after him. Then he took to his heels, and led me atwisting course through smelly courts into a tanyard and then by anarrow lane to the back-quarters of a factory. Twice we doubled back, and once we climbed a wall and followed the bank of a blue-black streamwith a filthy scum on it. Then we got into a very mean quarter of thetown, and emerged in a dingy garden, strewn with tin cans and brokenflowerpots. By a back door we entered one of the cottages and my guidevery carefully locked it behind him. 

He lit the gas and drew the blinds in a small parlour and looked at melong and quizzically. He spoke now in an educated voice. 

'I ask no questions, ' he said, 'but it's my business to put my servicesat your disposal. You carry the passport. '

I stared at him, and he pulled out his watch and showed awhite-and-purple cross inside the lid. 

'I don't defend all the people we employ, ' he said, grinning. 'Men'smorals are not always as good as their patriotism. One of them pinchedyour watch, and when he saw what was inside it he reported to me. Wesoon picked up your trail, and observed you were in a bit of trouble. As I say, I ask no questions. What can we do for you?'

'I want to get to London without any questions asked. They're lookingfor me in my present rig, so I've got to change it. '

'That's easy enough, ' he said. 'Make yourself comfortable for a littleand I'll fix you up. The night train goes at eleven-thirty.... You'llfind cigars in the cupboard and there's this week's _Critic_ on thattable. It's got a good article on Conrad, if you care for such things. '

I helped myself to a cigar and spent a profitable half-hour readingabout the vices of the British Government. Then my host returned andbade me ascend to his bedroom. 'You're Private Henry Tomkins of the12th Gloucesters, and you'll find your clothes ready for you. I'll sendon your present togs if you give me an address. '

I did as I was bid, and presently emerged in the uniform of a Britishprivate, complete down to the shapeless boots and the dropsicalputtees. Then my friend took me in hand and finished thetransformation. He started on my hair with scissors and arranged a lockwhich, when well oiled, curled over my forehead. My hands were hard andrough and only needed some grubbiness and hacking about the nails topass muster. With my cap on the side of my head, a pack on my back, aservice rifle in my hands, and my pockets bursting with penny picturepapers, I was the very model of the British soldier returning fromleave. I had also a packet of Woodbine cigarettes and a hunch ofbread-and-cheese for the journey. And I had a railway warrant made outin my name for London. 

Then my friend gave me supper--bread and cold meat and a bottle ofBass, which I wolfed savagely, for I had had nothing since breakfast. He was a curious fellow, as discreet as a tombstone, very ready tospeak about general subjects, but never once coming near the intimatebusiness which had linked him and me and Heaven knew how many others bymeans of a little purple-and-white cross in a watch-case. I remember wetalked about the topics that used to be popular at Biggleswick--the bigpolitical things that begin with capital letters. He took Amos's viewof the soundness of the British working-man, but he said somethingwhich made me think. He was convinced that there was a tremendous lotof German spy work about, and that most of the practitioners wereinnocent. 'The ordinary Briton doesn't run to treason, but he's notvery bright. A clever man in that kind of game can make better use of afool than a rogue. '

As he saw me off he gave me a piece of advice. 'Get out of theseclothes as soon as you reach London. Private Tomkins will frank you outof Bradfield, but it mightn't be a healthy alias in the metropolis. '

At eleven-thirty I was safe in the train, talking the jargon of thereturning soldier with half a dozen of my own type in a smokythird-class carriage. I had been lucky in my escape, for at the stationentrance and on the platform I had noticed several men with theunmistakable look of plainclothes police. Also--though this may havebeen my fancy--I thought I caught in the crowd a glimpse of the bagmanwho had called himself Linklater. 

CHAPTER TEN

The Advantages of an Air Raid

The train was abominably late. It was due at eight-twenty-seven, but itwas nearly ten when we reached St Pancras. I had resolved to gostraight to my rooms in Westminster, buying on the way a cap andwaterproof to conceal my uniform should anyone be near my door on myarrival. Then I would ring up Blenkiron and tell him all my adventures. I breakfasted at a coffee-stall, left my pack and rifle in thecloak-room, and walked out into the clear sunny morning. 

I was feeling very pleased with myself. Looking back on my madcapjourney, I seemed to have had an amazing run of luck and to be entitledto a little credit too. I told myself that persistence always pays andthat nobody is beaten till he is dead. All Blenkiron's instructions hadbeen faithfully carried out. I had found Ivery's post office. I hadlaid the lines of our own special communications with the enemy, and sofar as I could see I had left no clue behind me. Ivery and Gresson tookme for a well-meaning nincompoop. It was true that I had arousedprofound suspicion in the breasts of the Scottish police. But thatmattered nothing, for Cornelius Brand, the suspect, would presentlydisappear, and there was nothing against that rising soldier, Brigadier-General Richard Hannay, who would soon be on his way toFrance. After all this piece of service had not been so veryunpleasant. I laughed when I remembered my grim forebodings inGloucestershire. Bullivant had said it would be damnably risky in thelong run, but here was the end and I had never been in danger ofanything worse than making a fool of myself. 

I remember that, as I made my way through Bloomsbury, I was notthinking so much of my triumphant report to Blenkiron as of my speedyreturn to the Front. Soon I would be with my beloved brigade again. Ihad missed Messines and the first part of Third Ypres, but the battlewas still going on, and I had yet a chance. I might get a division, forthere had been talk of that before I left. I knew the Army Commanderthought a lot of me. But on the whole I hoped I would be left with thebrigade. After all I was an amateur soldier, and I wasn't certain of mypowers with a bigger command. 

In Charing Cross Road I thought of Mary, and the brigade seemedsuddenly less attractive. I hoped the war wouldn't last much longer, though with Russia heading straight for the devil I didn't know how itwas going to stop very soon. I was determined to see Mary before Ileft, and I had a good excuse, for I had taken my orders from her. Theprospect entranced me, and I was mooning along in a happy dream, when Icollided violently with in agitated citizen. 

Then I realized that something very odd was happening. 

There was a dull sound like the popping of the corks of flat soda-waterbottles. There was a humming, too, from very far up in the skies. People in the street were either staring at the heavens or runningwildly for shelter. A motor-bus in front of me emptied its contents ina twinkling; a taxi pulled up with a jar and the driver and fare divedinto a second-hand bookshop. It took me a moment or two to realize themeaning of it all, and I had scarcely done this when I got a verypractical proof. A hundred yards away a bomb fell on a street island, shivering every window-pane in a wide radius, and sending splinters ofstone flying about my head. I did what I had done a hundred timesbefore at the Front, and dropped flat on my face. 

The man who says he doesn't mind being bombed or shelled is either aliar or a maniac. This London air raid seemed to me a singularlyunpleasant business. I think it was the sight of the decent civilizedlife around one and the orderly streets, for what was perfectly naturalin a rubble-heap like Ypres or Arras seemed an outrage here. I rememberonce being in billets in a Flanders village where I had the Maire'shouse and sat in a room upholstered in cut velvet, with wax flowers onthe mantelpiece and oil paintings of three generations on the walls. The Boche took it into his head to shell the place with a long-rangenaval gun, and I simply loathed it. It was horrible to have dust andsplinters blown into that snug, homely room, whereas if I had been in aruined barn I wouldn't have given the thing two thoughts. In the sameway bombs dropping in central London seemed a grotesque indecency. Ihated to see plump citizens with wild eyes, and nursemaids with scaredchildren, and miserable women scuttling like rabbits in a warren. 

The drone grew louder, and, looking up, I could see the enemy planesflying in a beautiful formation, very leisurely as it seemed, with allLondon at their mercy. Another bomb fell to the right, and presentlybits of our own shrapnel were clattering viciously around me. I thoughtit about time to take cover, and ran shamelessly for the best place Icould see, which was a Tube station. Five minutes before the street hadbeen crowded; now I left behind me a desert dotted with one bus andthree empty taxicabs. 

I found the Tube entrance filled with excited humanity. One stout ladyhad fainted, and a nurse had become hysterical, but on the whole peoplewere behaving well. Oddly enough they did not seem inclined to go downthe stairs to the complete security of underground; but preferredrather to collect where they could still get a glimpse of the upperworld, as if they were torn between fear of their lives and interest inthe spectacle. That crowd gave me a good deal of respect for mycountrymen. But several were badly rattled, and one man a little wayoff, whose back was turned, kept twitching his shoulders as if he hadthe colic. 

I watched him curiously, and a movement of the crowd brought his faceinto profile. Then I gasped with amazement, for I saw that it was Ivery. 

And yet it was not Ivery. There were the familiar nondescript features, the blandness, the plumpness, but all, so to speak, in ruins. The manwas in a blind funk. His features seemed to be dislimning before myeyes. He was growing sharper, finer, in a way younger, a man withoutgrip on himself, a shapeless creature in process of transformation. Hewas being reduced to his rudiments. Under the spell of panic he wasbecoming a new man. 

And the crazy thing was that I knew the new man better than the old. 

My hands were jammed close to my sides by the crowd; I could scarcelyturn my head, and it was not the occasion for one's neighbours toobserve one's expression. If it had been, mine must have been a study. My mind was far away from air raids, back in the hot summer weather of1914. I saw a row of villas perched on a headland above the sea. In thegarden of one of them two men were playing tennis, while I wascrouching behind an adjacent bush. One of these was a plump young manwho wore a coloured scarf round his waist and babbled of golf handicaps... I saw him again in the villa dining-room, wearing a dinner-jacket, and lisping a little.... I sat opposite him at bridge, I beheld himcollared by two of Macgillivray's men, when his comrade had rushed forthe thirty-nine steps that led to the sea ... I saw, too, thesitting-room of my old flat in Portland Place and heard littleScudder's quick, anxious voice talking about the three men he fearedmost on earth, one of whom lisped in his speech. I had thought that allthree had long ago been laid under the turf ... 

He was not looking my way, and I could devour his face in safety. Therewas no shadow of doubt. I had always put him down as the most amazingactor on earth, for had he not played the part of the First Sea Lordand deluded that officer's daily colleagues? But he could do far morethan any human actor, for he could take on a new personality and withit a new appearance, and live steadily in the character as if he hadbeen born in it ... My mind was a blank, and I could only make blindgropings at conclusions ... How had he escaped the death of a spy and amurderer, for I had last seen him in the hands of justice? ... Ofcourse he had known me from the first day in Biggleswick ... I hadthought to play with him, and he had played most cunningly and damnablywith me. In that sweating sardine-tin of refugees I shivered in thebitterness of my chagrin. 

And then I found his face turned to mine, and I knew that he recognizedme. More, I knew that he knew that I had recognized him--not as Ivery, but as that other man. There came into his eyes a curious look ofcomprehension, which for a moment overcame his funk. 

I had sense enough to see that that put the final lid on it. There wasstill something doing if he believed that I was blind, but if he oncethought that I knew the truth he would be through our meshes anddisappear like a fog. 

My first thought was to get at him and collar him and summon everybodyto help me by denouncing him for what he was. Then I saw that that wasimpossible. I was a private soldier in a borrowed uniform, and he couldeasily turn the story against me. I must use surer weapons. I must getto Bullivant and Macgillivray and set their big machine to work. Aboveall I must get to Blenkiron. 

I started to squeeze out of that push, for air raids now seemed far tootrivial to give a thought to. Moreover the guns had stopped, but sosheeplike is human nature that the crowd still hung together, and ittook me a good fifteen minutes to edge my way to the open air. I foundthat the trouble was over, and the street had resumed its usualappearance. Buses and taxis were running, and voluble knots of peoplewere recounting their experiences. I started off for Blenkiron'sbookshop, as the nearest harbour of refuge. 

But in Piccadilly Circus I was stopped by a military policeman. Heasked my name and battalion, and I gave him them, while his suspiciouseye ran over my figure. I had no pack or rifle, and the crush in theTube station had not improved my appearance. I explained that I wasgoing back to France that evening, and he asked for my warrant. I fancymy preoccupation made me nervous and I lied badly. I said I had left itwith my kit in the house of my married sister, but I fumbled in givingthe address. I could see that the fellow did not believe a word of it. 

Just then up came an A. P. M. He was a pompous dug-out, very splendid inhis red tabs and probably bucked up at having just been under fire. Anyhow he was out to walk in the strict path of duty. 

'Tomkins!' he said. 'Tomkins! We've got some fellow of that name on ourrecords. Bring him along, Wilson. '

'But, sir, ' I said, 'I must--I simply must meet my friend. It's urgentbusiness, and I assure you I'm all right. If you don't believe me, I'lltake a taxi and we'll go down to Scotland Yard and I'll stand by whatthey say. '

His brow grew dark with wrath. 'What infernal nonsense is this?Scotland Yard! What the devil has Scotland Yard to do with it? You'rean imposter. I can see it in your face. I'll have your depot rung up, and you'll be in jail in a couple of hours. I know a deserter when Isee him. Bring him along, Wilson. You know what to do if he tries tobolt. '

I had a momentary thought of breaking away, but decided that the oddswere too much against me. Fuming with impatience, I followed the A. P. M. To his office on the first floor in a side street. The precious minuteswere slipping past; Ivery, now thoroughly warned, was making good hisescape; and I, the sole repository of a deadly secret, was tramping inthis absurd procession. 

The A. P. M. Issued his orders. He gave instructions that my depot shouldbe rung up, and he bade Wilson remove me to what he called theguard-room. He sat down at his desk, and busied himself with a mass ofbuff dockets. 

In desperation I renewed my appeal. 'I implore you to telephone to MrMacgillivray at Scotland Yard. It's a matter of life and death, Sir. You're taking a very big responsibility if you don't. '

I had hopelessly offended his brittle dignity. 'Any more of yourinsolence and I'll have you put in irons. I'll attend to you soonenough for your comfort. Get out of this till I send for you. '

As I looked at his foolish, irritable face I realized that I was fairlyUP against it. Short of assault and battery on everybody I was bound tosubmit. I saluted respectfully and was marched away. 

The hours I spent in that bare anteroom are like a nightmare in myrecollection. A sergeant was busy at a desk with more buff dockets andan orderly waited on a stool by a telephone. I looked at my watch andobserved that it was one o'clock. Soon the slamming of a door announcedthat the A. P. M. Had gone to lunch. I tried conversation with the fatsergeant, but he very soon shut me up. So I sat hunched up on thewooden form and chewed the cud of my vexation. 

I thought with bitterness of the satisfaction which had filled me inthe morning. I had fancied myself the devil of a fine fellow, and I hadbeen no more than a mountebank. The adventures of the past days seemedmerely childish. I had been telling lies and cutting capers over halfBritain, thinking I was playing a deep game, and I had only beenbehaving like a schoolboy. On such occasions a man is rarely just tohimself, and the intensity of my self-abasement would have satisfied myworst enemy. It didn't console me that the futility of it all was notmy blame. I was looking for excuses. It was the facts that cried outagainst me, and on the facts I had been an idiotic failure. 

For of course Ivery had played with me, played with me since the firstday at Biggleswick. He had applauded my speeches and flattered me, andadvised me to go to the Clyde, laughing at me all the time. Gresson, too, had known. Now I saw it all. He had tried to drown me betweenColonsay and Mull. It was Gresson who had set the police on me inMorvern. The bagman Linklater had been one of Gresson's creatures. Theonly meagre consolation was that the gang had thought me dangerousenough to attempt to murder me, and that they knew nothing about mydoings in Skye. Of that I was positive. They had marked me down, butfor several days I had slipped clean out of their ken. 

As I went over all the incidents, I asked if everything was yet lost. Ihad failed to hoodwink Ivery, but I had found out his post office, andif he only believed I hadn't recognized him for the miscreant of theBlack Stone he would go on in his old ways and play into Blenkiron'shands. Yes, but I had seen him in undress, so to speak, and he knewthat I had so seen him. The only thing now was to collar him before heleft the country, for there was ample evidence to hang him on. The lawmust stretch out its long arm and collect him and Gresson and thePortuguese Jew, try them by court martial, and put them decentlyunderground. 

But he had now had more than an hour's warning, and I was entangledwith red-tape in this damned A. P. M. 's office. The thought drove mefrantic, and I got up and paced the floor. I saw the orderly withrather a scared face making ready to press the bell, and I noticed thatthe fat sergeant had gone to lunch. 

'Say, mate, ' I said, 'don't you feel inclined to do a poor fellow agood turn? I know I'm for it all right, and I'll take my medicine likea lamb. But I want badly to put a telephone call through. '

'It ain't allowed, ' was the answer. 'I'd get 'ell from the old man. '

'But he's gone out, ' I urged. 'I don't want you to do anything wrong, mate, I leave you to do the talkin' if you'll only send my message. I'mflush of money, and I don't mind handin' you a quid for the job. '

He was a pinched little man with a weak chin, and he obviously wavered. 

''Oo d'ye want to talk to?' he asked. 

'Scotland Yard, ' I said, 'the home of the police. Lord bless you, therecan't be no harm in that. Ye've only got to ring up Scotland Yard--I'llgive you the number--and give the message to Mr Macgillivray. He's thehead bummer of all the bobbies. '

'That sounds a bit of all right, ' he said. 'The old man 'e won't beback for 'alf an hour, nor the sergeant neither. Let's see your quidthough. '

I laid a pound note on the form beside me. 'It's yours, mate, if youget through to Scotland Yard and speak the piece I'm goin' to give you. '

He went over to the instrument. 'What d'you want to say to the blokewith the long name?'

'Say that Richard Hannay is detained at the A. P. M. 's office in ClaxtonStreet. Say he's got important news--say urgent and secret news--andask Mr Macgillivray to do something about it at once. '

'But 'Annay ain't the name you gave. '

'Lord bless you, no. Did you never hear of a man borrowin' anothername? Anyhow that's the one I want you to give. '

'But if this Mac man comes round 'ere, they'll know 'e's bin rung up, and I'll 'ave the old man down on me. '

It took ten minutes and a second pound note to get him past thishurdle. By and by he screwed up courage and rang up the number. Ilistened with some nervousness while he gave my message--he had torepeat it twice--and waited eagerly on the next words. 

'No, sir, ' I heard him say, ''e don't want you to come round 'ere. 'Ethinks as 'ow--I mean to say, 'e wants--'

I took a long stride and twitched the receiver from him. 

'Macgillivray, ' I said, 'is that you? Richard Hannay! For the love ofGod come round here this instant and deliver me from the clutches of atomfool A. P. M. I've got the most deadly news. There's not a second towaste. For God's sake come quick!' Then I added: 'Just tell yourfellows to gather Ivery in at once. You know his lairs. '

I hung up the receiver and faced a pale and indignant orderly. 'It'sall right, ' I said. 'I promise you that you won't get into any troubleon my account. And there's your two quid. '

The door in the next room opened and shut. The A. P. M. Had returned fromlunch ... 

Ten minutes later the door opened again. I heard Macgillivray's voice, and it was not pitched in dulcet tones. He had run up against minorofficialdom and was making hay with it. 

I was my own master once more, so I forsook the company of the orderly. I found a most rattled officer trying to save a few rags of his dignityand the formidable figure of Macgillivray instructing him in manners. 

'Glad to see you, Dick, ' he said. 'This is General Hannay, sir. It maycomfort you to know that your folly may have made just the differencebetween your country's victory and defeat. I shall have a word to sayto your superiors. '

It was hardly fair. I had to put in a word for the old fellow, whosered tabs seemed suddenly to have grown dingy. 

'It was my blame wearing this kit. We'll call it a misunderstanding andforget it. But I would suggest that civility is not wasted even on apoor devil of a defaulting private soldier. '

Once in Macgillivray's car, I poured out my tale. 'Tell me it's anightmare, ' I cried. 'Tell me that the three men we collected on theRuff were shot long ago. '

'Two, ' he replied, 'but one escaped. Heaven knows how he managed it, but he disappeared clean out of the world. '

'The plump one who lisped in his speech?'

Macgillivray nodded. 

'Well, we're in for it this time. Have you issued instructions?'

'Yes. With luck we shall have our hands on him within an hour. We'veour net round all his haunts. '

'But two hours' start! It's a big handicap, for you're dealing with agenius. '

'Yet I think we can manage it. Where are you bound for?'

I told him my rooms in Westminster and then to my old flat in ParkLane. 'The day of disguises is past. In half an hour I'll be RichardHannay. It'll be a comfort to get into uniform again. Then I'll look upBlenkiron. '

He grinned. 'I gather you've had a riotous time. We've had a good manyanxious messages from the north about a certain Mr Brand. I couldn'tdiscourage our men, for I fancied it might have spoiled your game. Iheard that last night they had lost touch with you in Bradfield, so Irather expected to see you here today. Efficient body of men theScottish police. '

'Especially when they have various enthusiastic amateur helpers. '

'So?' he said. 'Yes, of course. They would have. But I hope presentlyto congratulate you on the success of your mission. '

'I'll bet you a pony you don't, ' I said. 

'I never bet on a professional subject. Why this pessimism?'

'Only that I know our gentleman better than you. I've been twice upagainst him. He's the kind of wicked that don't cease from troublingtill they're stone-dead. And even then I'd want to see the bodycremated and take the ashes into mid-ocean and scatter them. I've got afeeling that he's the biggest thing you or I will ever tackle. '

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The Valley of Humiliation

I collected some baggage and a pile of newly arrived letters from myrooms in Westminster and took a taxi to my Park Lane flat. Usually Ihad gone back to that old place with a great feeling of comfort, like aboy from school who ranges about his room at home and examines histreasures. I used to like to see my hunting trophies on the wall and tosink into my own armchairs But now I had no pleasure in the thing. Ihad a bath, and changed into uniform, and that made me feel in betterfighting trim. But I suffered from a heavy conviction of abjectfailure, and had no share in Macgillivray's optimism. The awe withwhich the Black Stone gang had filled me three years before had reviveda thousandfold. Personal humiliation was the least part of my trouble. What worried me was the sense of being up against something inhumanlyformidable and wise and strong. I believed I was willing to own defeatand chuck up the game. 

Among the unopened letters was one from Peter, a very bulky one which Isat down to read at leisure. It was a curious epistle, far the longesthe had ever written me, and its size made me understand his loneliness. He was still at his German prison-camp, but expecting every day to goto Switzerland. He said he could get back to England or South Africa, if he wanted, for they were clear that he could never be a combatantagain; but he thought he had better stay in Switzerland, for he wouldbe unhappy in England with all his friends fighting. As usual he madeno complaints, and seemed to be very grateful for his small mercies. There was a doctor who was kind to him, and some good fellows among theprisoners. 

But Peter's letter was made up chiefly of reflection. He had alwaysbeen a bit of a philosopher, and now, in his isolation, he had taken tothinking hard, and poured out the results to me on pages of thin paperin his clumsy handwriting. I could read between the lines that he washaving a stiff fight with himself. He was trying to keep his couragegoing in face of the bitterest trial he could be called on to face--acrippled old age. He had always known a good deal about the Bible, andthat and the _Pilgrim's Progress_ were his chief aids in reflection. Both he took quite literally, as if they were newspaper reports ofactual recent events. 

He mentioned that after much consideration he had reached theconclusion that the three greatest men he had ever heard of or met wereMr Valiant-for-Truth, the Apostle Paul, and a certain Billy Strang whohad been with him in Mashonaland in '92. Billy I knew all about; he hadbeen Peter's hero and leader till a lion got him in the Blaauwberg. Peter preferred Valiant-for-Truth to Mr Greatheart, I think, because ofhis superior truculence, for, being very gentle himself, he loved abold speaker. After that he dropped into a vein of self-examination. Heregretted that he fell far short of any of the three. He thought thathe might with luck resemble Mr Standfast, for like him he had not muchtrouble in keeping wakeful, and was also as 'poor as a howler', anddidn't care for women. He only hoped that he could imitate him inmaking a good end. 

Then followed some remarks of Peter's on courage, which came to me inthat London room as if spoken by his living voice. I have never knownanyone so brave, so brave by instinct, or anyone who hated so much tobe told so. It was almost the only thing that could make him angry. Allhis life he had been facing death, and to take risks seemed to him asnatural as to get up in the morning and eat his breakfast. But he hadstarted out to consider the very thing which before he had taken forgranted, and here is an extract from his conclusions. I paraphrase him, for he was not grammatical. 

_It's easy enough to be brave if you're feeling well and have foodinside you. And it's not so difficult even if you're short of a mealand seedy, for that makes you inclined to gamble. I mean by being braveplaying the game by the right rules without letting it worry you thatyou may very likely get knocked on the head. It's the wisest way tosave your skin. It doesn't do to think about death if you're facing acharging lion or trying to bluff a lot of savages. If you think aboutit you'll get it; if you don't, the odds are you won't. That kind ofcourage is only good nerves and experience ... Most courage isexperience. Most people are a little scared at new things ... _

_You want a bigger heart to face danger which you go out to look for, and which doesn't come to you in the ordinary way of business. Still, that's pretty much the same thing--good nerves and good health, and anatural liking for rows. You see, Dick, in all that game there's a lotof fun. There's excitement and the fun of using your wits and skill, and you know that the bad bits can't last long. When Arcoll sent me toMakapan's kraal I didn't altogether fancy the job, but at the worst itwas three parts sport, and I got so excited that I never thought of therisk till it was over ... _

_But the big courage is the cold-blooded kind, the kind that never letsgo even when you're feeling empty inside, and your blood's thin, andthere's no kind of fun or profit to be had, and the trouble's not overin an hour or two but lasts for months and years. One of the men herewas speaking about that kind, and he called it 'Fortitude'. I reckonfortitude's the biggest thing a man can have--just to go on enduringwhen there's no guts or heart left in you. Billy had it when he trekkedsolitary from Garungoze to the Limpopo with fever and a broken arm justto show the Portugooses that he wouldn't be downed by them. But thehead man at the job was the Apostle Paul ... _

Peter was writing for his own comfort, for fortitude was all that wasleft to him now. But his words came pretty straight to me, and I readthem again and again, for I needed the lesson. Here was I losing heartjust because I had failed in the first round and my pride had taken aknock. I felt honestly ashamed of myself, and that made me a farhappier man. There could be no question of dropping the business, whatever its difficulties. I had a queer religious feeling that Iveryand I had our fortunes intertwined, and that no will of mine could keepus apart. I had faced him before the war and won; I had faced him againand lost; the third time or the twentieth time we would reach a finaldecision. The whole business had hitherto appeared to me a trifleunreal, at any rate my own connection with it. I had been docilelyobeying orders, but my real self had been standing aside and watchingmy doings with a certain aloofness. But that hour in the Tube stationhad brought me into the serum, and I saw the affair not as Bullivant'sor even Blenkiron's, but as my own. Before I had been itching to getback to the Front; now I wanted to get on to Ivery's trail, though itshould take me through the nether pit. Peter was right; fortitude wasthe thing a man must possess if he would save his soul. 

The hours passed, and, as I expected, there came no word fromMacgillivray. I had some dinner sent up to me at seven o'clock, andabout eight I was thinking of looking up Blenkiron. Just then came atelephone call asking me to go round to Sir Walter Bullivant's house inQueen Anne's Gate. 

Ten minutes later I was ringing the bell, and the door was opened to meby the same impassive butler who had admitted me on that famous nightthree years before. Nothing had changed in the pleasant green-panelledhall; the alcove was the same as when I had watched from it thedeparture of the man who now called himself Ivery; the telephone booklay in the very place from which I had snatched it in order to ring upthe First Sea Lord. And in the back room, where that night five anxiousofficials had conferred, I found Sir Walter and Blenkiron. 

Both looked worried, the American feverishly so. He walked up and downthe hearthrug, sucking an unlit black cigar. 

'Say, Dick, ' he said, this is a bad business. It wasn't no fault ofyours. You did fine. It was us--me and Sir Walter and Mr Macgillivraythat were the quitters. '

'Any news?' I asked. 

'So far the cover's drawn blank, ' Sir Walter replied. 'It was thedevil's own work that our friend looked your way today. You're prettycertain he saw that you recognized him?'

'Absolutely. As sure as that he knew I recognized him in your hallthree years ago when he was swaggering as Lord Alloa. '

'No, ' said Blenkiron dolefully, that little flicker of recognition isjust the one thing you can't be wrong about. Land alive! I wish MrMacgillivray would come. '

The bell rang, and the door opened, but it was not Macgillivray. It wasa young girl in a white ball-gown, with a cluster of blue cornflowersat her breast. The sight of her fetched Sir Walter out of his chair sosuddenly that he upset his coffee cup. 

'Mary, my dear, how did you manage it? I didn't expect you till thelate train. '

'I was in London, you see, and they telephoned on your telegram. I'mstaying with Aunt Doria, and I cut her theatre party. She thinks I'm atthe Shandwick's dance, so I needn't go home till morning ... Goodevening, General Hannay. You got over the Hill Difficulty. '

'The next stage is the Valley of Humiliation, ' I answered. 

'So it would appear, ' she said gravely, and sat very quietly on theedge of Sir Walter's chair with her small, cool hand upon his. 

I had been picturing her in my recollection as very young andglimmering, a dancing, exquisite child. But now I revised that picture. The crystal freshness of morning was still there, but I saw how deepthe waters were. It was the clean fineness and strength of her thatentranced me. I didn't even think of her as pretty, any more than a manthinks of the good looks of the friend he worships. 

We waited, hardly speaking a word, till Macgillivray came. The firstsight of his face told his story. 

'Gone?' asked Blenkiron sharply. The man's lethargic calm seemed tohave wholly deserted him. 

'Gone, ' repeated the newcomer. 'We have just tracked him down. Oh, hemanaged it cleverly. Never a sign of disturbance in any of his lairs. His dinner ordered at Biggleswick and several people invited to staywith him for the weekend--one a member of the Government. Two meetingsat which he was to speak arranged for next week. Early this afternoonhe flew over to France as a passenger in one of the new planes. He hadbeen mixed up with the Air Board people for months--of course asanother man with another face. Miss Lamington discovered that just toolate. The bus went out of its course and came down in Normandy. By thistime our man's in Paris or beyond it. '

Sir Walter took off his big tortoiseshell spectacles and laid themcarefully on the table. 

'Roll up the map of Europe, ' he said. 'This is our Austerlitz. Mary, mydear, I am feeling very old. '

Macgillivray had the sharpened face of a bitterly disappointed man. Blenkiron had got very red, and I could see that he was blasphemingviolently under his breath. Mary's eyes were quiet and solemn. She kepton patting Sir Walter's hand. The sense of some great impendingdisaster hung heavily on me, and to break the spell I asked for details. 

'Tell me just the extent of the damage, ' I asked. 'Our neat plan fordeceiving the Boche has failed. That is bad. A dangerous spy has gotbeyond our power. That's worse. Tell me, is there still a worst? What'sthe limit of mischief he can do?'

Sir Walter had risen and joined Blenkiron on the hearthrug. His browswere furrowed and his mouth hard as if he were suffering pain. 

'There is no limit, ' he said. 'None that I can see, except thelong-suffering of God. You know the man as Ivery, and you knew him asthat other whom you believed to have been shot one summer morning anddecently buried. You feared the second--at least if you didn't, Idid--most mortally. You realized that we feared Ivery, and you knewenough about him to see his fiendish cleverness. Well, you have the twomen combined in one man. Ivery was the best brain Macgillivray and Iever encountered, the most cunning and patient and long-sighted. Combine him with the other, the chameleon who can blend himself withhis environment, and has as many personalities as there are types andtraits on the earth. What kind of enemy is that to have to fight?'

'I admit it's a steep proposition. But after all how much ill can hedo? There are pretty strict limits to the activity of even thecleverest spy. '

'I agree. But this man is not a spy who buys a few wretchedsubordinates and steals a dozen private letters. He's a genius who hasbeen living as part of our English life. There's nothing he hasn'tseen. He's been on terms of intimacy with all kinds of politicians. Weknow that. He did it as Ivery. They rather liked him, for he was cleverand flattered them, and they told him things. But God knows what he sawand heard in his other personalities. For all I know he may havebreakfasted at Downing Street with letters of introduction fromPresident Wilson, or visited the Grand Fleet as a distinguishedneutral. Then think of the women; how they talk. We're the leakiestsociety on earth, and we safeguard ourselves by keeping dangerouspeople out of it. We trust to our outer barrage. But anyone who hasreally slipped inside has a million chances. And this, remember, is oneman in ten millions, a man whose brain never sleeps for a moment, whois quick to seize the slightest hint, who can piece a plan together outof a dozen bits of gossip. It's like--it's as if the Chief of theIntelligence Department were suddenly to desert to the enemy ... Theordinary spy knows only bits of unconnected facts. This man knows ourlife and our way of thinking and everything about us. '

'Well, but a treatise on English life in time of war won't do much goodto the Boche. '

Sir Walter shook his head. 'Don't you realize the explosive stuff thatis lying about? Ivery knows enough to make the next German peaceoffensive really deadly--not the blundering thing which it has been upto now, but something which gets our weak spots on the raw. He knowsenough to wreck our campaign in the field. And the awful thing is thatwe don't know just what he knows or what he is aiming for. This war's apacket of surprises. Both sides are struggling for the margin, thelittle fraction of advantage, and between evenly matched enemies it'sjust the extra atom of foreknowledge that tells. '

'Then we've got to push off and get after him, ' I said cheerfully. 

'But what are you going to do?' asked Macgillivray. 'If it were merelya question of destroying an organization it might be managed, for anorganization presents a big front. But it's a question of destroyingthis one man, and his front is a razor edge. How are you going to findhim? It's like looking for a needle in a haystack, and such a needle! Aneedle which can become a piece of straw or a tin-tack when it chooses!'

'All the same we've got to do it, ' I said, remembering old Peter'slesson on fortitude, though I can't say I was feeling verystout-hearted. 

Sir Walter flung himself wearily into an arm-chair. 'I wish I could bean optimist, ' he said, 'but it looks as if we must own defeat. I'vebeen at this work for twenty years, and, though I've been often beaten, I've always held certain cards in the game. Now I'm hanged if I've any. It looks like a knock-out, Hannay. It's no good deluding ourselves. We're men enough to look facts in the face and tell ourselves thetruth. I don't see any ray of light in the business. We've missed ourshot by a hairsbreadth and that's the same as missing by miles. '

I remember he looked at Mary as if for confirmation, but she did notsmile or nod. Her face was very grave and her eyes looked steadily athim. Then they moved and met mine, and they seemed to give me mymarching orders. 

'Sir Walter, ' I said, 'three years ago you and I sat in this very room. We thought we were done to the world, as we think now. We had just thatone miserable little clue to hang on to--a dozen words scribbled in anotebook by a dead man. You thought I was mad when I asked forScudder's book, but we put our backs into the job and in twenty-fourhours we had won out. Remember that then we were fighting against time. Now we have a reasonable amount of leisure. Then we had nothing but asentence of gibberish. Now we have a great body of knowledge, forBlenkiron has been brooding over Ivery like an old hen, and he knowshis ways of working and his breed of confederate. You've got somethingto work on now. Do you mean to tell me that, when the stakes are sobig, you're going to chuck in your hand?'

Macgillivray raised his head. 'We know a good deal about Ivery, butIvery's dead. We know nothing of the man who was gloriously resurrectedthis evening in Normandy. '

'Oh, yes we do. There are many faces to the man, but only one mind, andyou know plenty about that mind. '

'I wonder, ' said Sir Walter. 'How can you know a mind which has nocharacteristics except that it is wholly and supremely competent? Meremental powers won't give us a clue. We want to know the character whichis behind all the personalities. Above all we want to know its foibles. If we had only a hint of some weakness we might make a plan. '

'Well, let's set down all we know, ' I cried, for the more I argued thekeener I grew. I told them in some detail the story of the night in theCoolin and what I had heard there. 

'There's the two names Chelius and Bommaerts. The man spoke them in thesame breath as Effenbein, so they must be associated with Ivery's gang. You've got to get the whole Secret Service of the Allies busy to fit ameaning to these two words. Surely to goodness you'll find something!Remember those names don't belong to the Ivery part, but to the biggame behind all the different disguises ... Then there's the talk aboutthe Wild Birds and the Cage Birds. I haven't a guess at what it means. But it refers to some infernal gang, and among your piles of recordsthere must be some clue. You set the intelligence of two hemispheresbusy on the job. You've got all the machinery, and it's my experiencethat if even one solitary man keeps chewing on at a problem hediscovers something. '

My enthusiasm was beginning to strike sparks from Macgillivray. He waslooking thoughtful now, instead of despondent. 

'There might be something in that, ' he said, 'but it's a far-outchance. '

'Of course it's a far-out chance, and that's all we're ever going toget from Ivery. But we've taken a bad chance before and won ... Thenyou've all that you know about Ivery here. Go through his _dossier_with a small-tooth comb and I'll bet you find something to work on. Blenkiron, you're a man with a cool head. You admit we've a sportingchance. '

'Sure, Dick. He's fixed things so that the lines are across the track, but we'll clear somehow. So far as John S. Blenkiron is concerned he'sgot just one thing to do in this world, and that's to follow the yellowdog and have him neatly and cleanly tidied up. I've got a stack ofpersonal affronts to settle. I was easy fruit and he hasn't been veryrespectful. You can count me in, Dick. '

'Then we're agreed, ' I cried. 'Well, gentlemen, it's up to you toarrange the first stage. You've some pretty solid staff work to put inbefore you get on the trail. '

'And you?' Sir Walter asked. 

'I'm going back to my brigade. I want a rest and a change. Besides, thefirst stage is office work, and I'm no use for that. But I'll bewaiting to be summoned, and I'll come like a shot as soon as you hoickme out. I've got a presentiment about this thing. I know there'll be afinish and that I'll be in at it, and I think it will be a desperate, bloody business too. '

I found Mary's eyes fixed upon me, and in them I read the same thought. She had not spoken a word, but had sat on the edge of a chair, swinginga foot idly, one hand playing with an ivory fan. She had given me myold orders and I looked to her for confirmation of the new. 

'Miss Lamington, you are the wisest of the lot of us. What do you say?'

She smiled--that shy, companionable smile which I had been picturing tomyself through all the wanderings of the past month. 

'I think you are right. We've a long way to go yet, for the Valley ofHumiliation comes only half-way in the _Pilgrim's Progress_. The nextstage was Vanity Fair. I might be of some use there, don't you think?'

I remember the way she laughed and flung back her head like a gallantboy. 

'The mistake we've all been making, ' she said, 'is that our methods aretoo terre-a-terre. We've a poet to deal with, a great poet, and we mustfling our imaginations forward to catch up with him. His strength ishis unexpectedness, you know, and we won't beat him by plodding only. Ibelieve the wildest course is the wisest, for it's the most likely tointersect his ... Who's the poet among us?'

'Peter, ' I said. 'But he's pinned down with a game leg in Germany. Allthe same we must rope him in. '

By this time we had all cheered up, for it is wonderful what a tonicthere is in a prospect of action. The butler brought in tea, which itwas Bullivant's habit to drink after dinner. To me it seemed fantasticto watch a slip of a girl pouring it out for two grizzled anddistinguished servants of the State and one battered soldier--asdecorous a family party as you would ask to see--and to reflect thatall four were engaged in an enterprise where men's lives must bereckoned at less than thistledown. 

After that we went upstairs to a noble Georgian drawing-room and Maryplayed to us. I don't care two straws for music from aninstrument--unless it be the pipes or a regimental band--but I dearlylove the human voice. But she would not sing, for singing to her, Ifancy, was something that did not come at will, but flowed only like abird's note when the mood favoured. I did not want it either. I wascontent to let 'Cherry Ripe' be the one song linked with her in mymemory. 

It was Macgillivray who brought us back to business. 

'I wish to Heaven there was one habit of mind we could definitelyattach to him and to no one else. ' (At this moment 'He' had only onemeaning for us. )

'You can't do nothing with his mind, ' Blenkiron drawled. 'You can'tloose the bands of Orion, as the Bible says, or hold Leviathan with ahook. I reckoned I could and made a mighty close study of his de-vices. But the darned cuss wouldn't stay put. I thought I had tied him down tothe double bluff, and he went and played the triple bluff on me. There's nothing doing that line. '

A memory of Peter recurred to me. 

'What about the "blind spot"?' I asked, and I told them old Peter's pettheory. 'Every man that God made has his weak spot somewhere, some flawin his character which leaves a dull patch in his brain. We've got tofind that out, and I think I've made a beginning. '

Macgillivray in a sharp voice asked my meaning. 

'He's in a funk ... Of something. Oh, I don't mean he's a coward. A manin his trade wants the nerve of a buffalo. He could give us all pointsin courage. What I mean is that he's not clean white all through. Thereare yellow streaks somewhere in him ... I've given a good deal ofthought to this courage business, for I haven't got a great deal of itmyself. Not like Peter, I mean. I've got heaps of soft places in me. I'm afraid of being drowned for one thing, or of getting my eyes shotout. Ivery's afraid of bombs--at any rate he's afraid of bombs in a bigcity. I once read a book which talked about a thing called agoraphobia. Perhaps it's that ... Now if we know that weak spot it helps us in ourwork. There are some places he won't go to, and there are some thingshe can't do--not well, anyway. I reckon that's useful. '

'Ye-es, ' said Macgillivray. 'Perhaps it's not what you'd call a burningand a shining light. '

'There's another chink in his armour, ' I went on. 'There's one personin the world he can never practise his transformations on, and that'sme. I shall always know him again, though he appeared as Sir DouglasHaig. I can't explain why, but I've got a feel in my bones about it. Ididn't recognize him before, for I thought he was dead, and the nervein my brain which should have been looking for him wasn't working. ButI'm on my guard now, and that nerve's functioning at full power. Whenever and wherever and howsoever we meet again on the face of theearth, it will be "Dr Livingstone, I presume" between him and me. '

'That is better, ' said Macgillivray. 'If we have any luck, Hannay, itwon't be long till we pull you out of His Majesty's Forces. '

Mary got up from the piano and resumed her old perch on the arm of SirWalter's chair. 

'There's another blind spot which you haven't mentioned. ' It was a coolevening, but I noticed that her cheeks had suddenly flushed. 

'Last week Mr Ivery asked me to marry him, ' she said. 

PART II

CHAPTER TWELVE

I Become a Combatant Once More

I returned to France on 13 September, and took over my old brigade onthe 19th of the same month. We were shoved in at the Polygon Wood onthe 26th, and after four days got so badly mauled that we were broughtout to refit. On 7 October, very much to my surprise, I was givencommand of a division and was on the fringes of the Ypres fightingduring the first days of November. From that front we were hurried downto Cambrai in support, but came in only for the last backwash of thatsingular battle. We held a bit of the St Quentin sector till justbefore Christmas, when we had a spell of rest in billets, whichendured, so far as I was concerned, till the beginning of January, whenI was sent off on the errand which I shall presently relate. 

That is a brief summary of my military record in the latter part of1917. I am not going to enlarge on the fighting. Except for the days ofthe Polygon Wood it was neither very severe nor very distinguished, andyou will find it in the history books. What I have to tell of here ismy own personal quest, for all the time I was living with my mindturned two ways. In the morasses of the Haanebeek flats, in the slimysupport lines at Zonnebeke, in the tortured uplands about Flesquieres, and in many other odd places I kept worrying at my private conundrum. At night I would lie awake thinking of it, and many a toss I took intoshell-holes and many a time I stepped off the duckboards, because myeyes were on a different landscape. Nobody ever chewed a few wretchedclues into such a pulp as I did during those bleak months in Flandersand Picardy. 

For I had an instinct that the thing was desperately grave, graver eventhan the battle before me. Russia had gone headlong to the devil, Italyhad taken it between the eyes and was still dizzy, and our ownprospects were none too bright. The Boche was getting uppish and withsome cause, and I foresaw a rocky time ahead till America could line upwith us in the field. It was the chance for the Wild Birds, and I usedto wake in a sweat to think what devilry Ivery might be engineering. Ibelieve I did my proper job reasonably well, but I put in my mostsavage thinking over the other. I remember how I used to go over everyhour of every day from that June night in the Cotswolds till my lastmeeting with Bullivant in London, trying to find a new bearing. Ishould probably have got brain-fever, if I hadn't had to spend most ofmy days and nights fighting a stiffish battle with a very watchful Hun. That kept my mind balanced, and I dare say it gave an edge to it; forduring those months I was lucky enough to hit on a better scent thanBullivant and Macgillivray and Blenkiron, pulling a thousand wires intheir London offices. 

I will set down in order of time the various incidents in this privatequest of mine. The first was my meeting with Geordie Hamilton. Ithappened just after I rejoined the brigade, when I went down to have alook at our Scots Fusilier battalion. The old brigade had been roughlyhandled on 31st July, and had had to get heavy drafts to come anywherenear strength. The Fusiliers especially were almost a new lot, formedby joining our remnants to the remains of a battalion in anotherdivision and bringing about a dozen officers from the training unit athome. 

I inspected the men and my eyes caught sight of a familiar face. Iasked his name and the colonel got it from the sergeant-major. It wasLance-Corporal George Hamilton. 

Now I wanted a new batman, and I resolved then and there to have my oldantagonist. That afternoon he reported to me at brigade headquarters. As I looked at that solid bandy-legged figure, standing as stiff toattention as a tobacconist's sign, his ugly face hewn out of brown oak, his honest, sullen mouth, and his blue eyes staring into vacancy, Iknew I had got the man I wanted. 

'Hamilton, ' I said, 'you and I have met before. '

'Sirr?' came the mystified answer. 

'Look at me, man, and tell me if you don't recognize me. '

He moved his eyes a fraction, in a respectful glance. 

'Sirr, I don't mind of you. '

'Well, I'll refresh your memory. Do you remember the hall in NewmilnsStreet and the meeting there? You had a fight with a man outside, andgot knocked down. '

He made no answer, but his colour deepened. 

'And a fortnight later in a public-house in Muirtown you saw the sameman, and gave him the chase of his life. '

I could see his mouth set, for visions of the penalties laid down bythe King's Regulations for striking an officer must have crossed hismind. But he never budged. 

'Look me in the face, man, ' I said. 'Do you remember me now?'

He did as he was bid. 

'Sirr, I mind of you. '

'Have you nothing more to say?'

He cleared his throat. 'Sirr, I did not ken I was hittin' an officer. '

'Of course you didn't. You did perfectly right, and if the war was overand we were both free men, I would give you a chance of knocking medown here and now. That's got to wait. When you saw me last I wasserving my country, though you didn't know it. We're serving togethernow, and you must get your revenge out of the Boche. I'm going to makeyou my servant, for you and I have a pretty close bond between us. Whatdo you say to that?'

This time he looked me full in the face. His troubled eye appraised meand was satisfied. 'I'm proud to be servant to ye, sirr, ' he said. Thenout of his chest came a strangled chuckle, and he forgot hisdiscipline. 'Losh, but ye're the great lad!' He recovered himselfpromptly, saluted, and marched off. 

 * * * * *

The second episode befell during our brief rest after the Polygon Wood, when I had ridden down the line one afternoon to see a friend in theHeavy Artillery. I was returning in the drizzle of evening, clankingalong the greasy path between the sad poplars, when I struck a Labourcompany repairing the ravages of a Boche strafe that morning. I wasn'tvery certain of my road and asked one of the workers. He straightenedhimself and saluted, and I saw beneath a disreputable cap the featuresof the man who had been with me in the Coolin crevice. 

I spoke a word to his sergeant, who fell him out, and he walked a bitof the way with me. 

'Great Scot, Wake, what brought you here?' I asked. 

'Same thing as brought you. This rotten war. '

I had dismounted and was walking beside him, and I noticed that hislean face had lost its pallor and that his eyes were less hot than theyused to be. 

'You seem to thrive on it, ' I said, for I did not know what to say. Asudden shyness possessed me. Wake must have gone through some violentcyclones of feeling before it came to this. He saw what I was thinkingand laughed in his sharp, ironical way. 

'Don't flatter yourself you've made a convert. I think as I alwaysthought. But I came to the conclusion that since the fates had made mea Government servant I might as well do my work somewhere lesscushioned than a chair in the Home Office ... Oh, no, it wasn't amatter of principle. One kind of work's as good as another, and I'm abetter clerk than a navvy. With me it was self-indulgence: I wantedfresh air and exercise. '

I looked at him--mud to the waist, and his hands all blistered and cutwith unaccustomed labour. I could realize what his associates must meanto him, and how he would relish the rough tonguing of non-coms. 

'You're a confounded humbug, ' I said. 'Why on earth didn't you go intoan O. T. C. And come out with a commission? They're easy enough to get. '

'You mistake my case, ' he said bitterly. 'I experienced no suddenconviction about the justice of the war. I stand where I always stood. I'm a non-combatant, and I wanted a change of civilian work ... No, itwasn't any idiotic tribunal sent me here. I came of my own free will, and I'm really rather enjoying myself. '

'It's a rough job for a man like you, ' I said. 

'Not so rough as the fellows get in the trenches. I watched a battalionmarching back today and they looked like ghosts who had been years inmuddy graves. White faces and dazed eyes and leaden feet. Mine's acushy job. I like it best when the weather's foul. It cheats me intothinking I'm doing my duty. '

I nodded towards a recent shell-hole. 'Much of that sort of thing?'

'Now and then. We had a good dusting this morning. I can't say I likedit at the time, but I like to look back on it. A sort of moral anodyne. '

'I wonder what on earth the rest of your lot make of you?'

'They don't make anything. I'm not remarkable for my _bonhomie_. Theythink I'm a prig--which I am. It doesn't amuse me to talk about beerand women or listen to a gramophone or grouse about my last meal. ButI'm quite content, thank you. Sometimes I get a seat in a corner of aY. M. C. A. Hut, and I've a book or two. My chief affliction is the padre. He was up at Keble in my time, and, as one of my colleagues puts it, wants to be "too bloody helpful".... What are you doing, Hannay? I seeyou're some kind of general. They're pretty thick on the ground here. '

'I'm a sort of general. Soldiering in the Salient isn't the softest ofjobs, but I don't believe it's as tough as yours is for you. D'youknow, Wake, I wish I had you in my brigade. Trained or untrained, you're a dashed stout-hearted fellow. '

He laughed with a trifle less acidity than usual. 'Almost thoupersuadest me to be combatant. No, thank you. I haven't the courage, and besides there's my jolly old principles. All the same I'd like tobe near you. You're a good chap, and I've had the honour to assist inyour education ... I must be getting back, or the sergeant will thinkI've bolted. '

We shook hands, and the last I saw of him was a figure saluting stifflyin the wet twilight. 

 * * * * *

The third incident was trivial enough, though momentous in its results. Just before I got the division I had a bout of malaria. We were insupport in the Salient, in very uncomfortable trenches behind Wieltje, and I spent three days on my back in a dug-out. Outside was a blizzardof rain, and the water now and then came down the stairs through thegas curtain and stood in pools at my bed foot. It wasn't the merriestplace to convalesce in, but I was as hard as nails at the time and bythe third day I was beginning to sit up and be bored. 

I read all my English papers twice and a big stack of German ones whichI used to have sent up by a friend in the G. H. Q. Intelligence, who knewI liked to follow what the Boche was saying. As I dozed and ruminatedin the way a man does after fever, I was struck by the tremendousdisplay of one advertisement in the English press. It was a thingcalled 'Gussiter's Deep-breathing System, ' which, according to itspromoter, was a cure for every ill, mental, moral, or physical, thatman can suffer. Politicians, generals, admirals, and music-hall artistsall testified to the new life it had opened up for them. I rememberwondering what these sportsmen got for their testimonies, and thinkingI would write a spoof letter myself to old Gussiter. 

Then I picked up the German papers, and suddenly my eye caught anadvertisement of the same kind in the _Frankfurter Zeitung_. It was notGussiter this time, but one Weissmann, but his game wasidentical--'deep breathing'. The Hun style was different from theEnglish--all about the Goddess of Health, and the Nymphs of theMountains, and two quotations from Schiller. But the principle was thesame. 

That made me ponder a little, and I went carefully through the wholebatch. I found the advertisement in the _Frankfurter_ and in one or tworather obscure _Volkstimmes_ and _Volkszeitungs_. I found it too in_Der Grosse Krieg_, the official German propagandist picture-paper. They were the same all but one, and that one had a bold variation, forit contained four of the sentences used in the ordinary Englishadvertisement. 

This struck me as fishy, and I started to write a letter toMacgillivray pointing out what seemed to be a case of trading with theenemy, and advising him to get on to Mr Gussiter's financial backing. Ithought he might find a Hun syndicate behind him. And then I hadanother notion, which made me rewrite my letter. 

I went through the papers again. The English ones which contained theadvertisement were all good, solid, bellicose organs; the kind of thingno censorship would object to leaving the country. I had before me asmall sheaf of pacifist prints, and they had not the advertisement. That might be for reasons of circulation, or it might not. The Germanpapers were either Radical or Socialist publications, just the oppositeof the English lot, except the _Grosse Krieg_. Now we have a freepress, and Germany has, strictly speaking, none. All her journalisticindiscretions are calculated. Therefore the Boche has no objection tohis rags getting to enemy countries. He wants it. He likes to see themquoted in columns headed 'Through German Glasses', and made the text ofarticles showing what a good democrat he is becoming. 

As I puzzled over the subject, certain conclusions began to form in mymind. The four identical sentences seemed to hint that 'Deep Breathing'had Boche affiliations. Here was a chance of communicating with theenemy which would defy the argus-eyed gentlemen who examine the mails. What was to hinder Mr A at one end writing an advertisement with a goodcipher in it, and the paper containing it getting into Germany byHolland in three days? Herr B at the other end replied in the_Frankfurter_, and a few days later shrewd editors and acuteIntelligence officers--and Mr A--were reading it in London, though onlyMr A knew what it really meant. 

It struck me as a bright idea, the sort of simple thing that doesn'toccur to clever people, and very rarely to the Boche. I wished I wasnot in the middle of a battle, for I would have had a try atinvestigating the cipher myself. I wrote a long letter to Macgillivrayputting my case, and then went to sleep. When I awoke I reflected thatit was a pretty thin argument, and would have stopped the letter, if ithadn't gone off early by a ration party. 

 * * * * *

After that things began very slowly to happen. The first was whenHamilton, having gone to Boulogne to fetch some mess-stores, returnedwith the startling news that he had seen Gresson. He had not heard hisname, but described him dramatically to me as the wee red-headed devilthat kicked Ecky Brockie's knee yon time in Glesca, sirr, ' I recognizedthe description. 

Gresson, it appeared, was joy-riding. He was with a party of Labourdelegates who had been met by two officers and carried off inchars-a-bancs. Hamilton reported from inquiries among his friends thatthis kind of visitor came weekly. I thought it a very sensible notionon the Government's part, but I wondered how Gresson had been selected. I had hoped that Macgillivray had weeks ago made a long arm and quoddedhim. Perhaps they had too little evidence to hang him, but he was theblackest sort of suspect and should have been interned. 

A week later I had occasion to be at G. H. Q. On business connected withmy new division. My friends in the Intelligence allowed me to use thedirect line to London, and I called up Macgillivray. For ten minutes Ihad an exciting talk, for I had had no news from that quarter since Ileft England. I heard that the Portuguese Jew had escaped--had vanishedfrom his native heather when they went to get him. They had identifiedhim as a German professor of Celtic languages, who had held a chair ina Welsh college--a dangerous fellow, for he was an upright, high-minded, raging fanatic. Against Gresson they had no evidence atall, but he was kept under strict observation. When I asked about hiscrossing to France, Macgillivray replied that that was part of theirscheme. I inquired if the visit had given them any clues, but I nevergot an answer, for the line had to be cleared at that moment for theWar Office. I hunted up the man who had charge of these Labour visits, and made friends with him. Gresson, he said, had been a quiet, well-mannered, and most appreciative guest. He had wept tears on VimyRidge, and--strictly against orders--had made a speech to some troopshe met on the Arras road about how British Labour was remembering theArmy in its prayers and sweating blood to make guns. On the last day hehad had a misadventure, for he got very sick on the road--some kidneytrouble that couldn't stand the jolting of the car--and had to be leftat a village and picked up by the party on its way back. They found himbetter, but still shaky. I cross-examined the particular officer incharge about that halt, and learned that Gresson had been left alone ina peasant's cottage, for he said he only needed to lie down. The placewas the hamlet of Eaucourt Sainte-Anne. 

For several weeks that name stuck in my head. It had a pleasant, quaintsound, and I wondered how Gresson had spent his hours there. I huntedit up on the map, and promised myself to have a look at it the nexttime we came out to rest. And then I forgot about it till I heard thename mentioned again. 

On 23rd October I had the bad luck, during a tour of my first-linetrenches, to stop a small shell-fragment with my head. It was a close, misty day and I had taken off my tin hat to wipe my brow when the thinghappened. I got a long, shallow scalp wound which meant nothing butbled a lot, and, as we were not in for any big move, the M. O. Sent meback to a clearing station to have it seen to. I was three days in theplace and, being perfectly well, had leisure to look about me andreflect, so that I recall that time as a queer, restful interlude inthe infernal racket of war. I remember yet how on my last night there agale made the lamps swing and flicker, and turned the grey-green canvaswalls into a mass of mottled shadows. The floor canvas was muddy fromthe tramping of many feet bringing in the constant dribble ofcasualties from the line. In my tent there was no one very bad at thetime, except a boy with his shoulder half-blown off by a whizz-bang, who lay in a drugged sleep at the far end. The majority were influenza, bronchitis, and trench-fever--waiting to be moved to the base, orconvalescent and about to return to their units. 

A small group of us dined off tinned chicken, stewed fruit, and radoncheese round the smoky stove, where two screens manufactured frompacking cases gave some protection against the draughts which sweptlike young tornadoes down the tent. One man had been reading a bookcalled the _Ghost Stories of an Antiquary_, and the talk turned on theunexplainable things that happen to everybody once or twice in alifetime. I contributed a yarn about the men who went to look forKruger's treasure in the bushveld and got scared by a greenwildebeeste. It is a good yarn and I'll write it down some day. A tallHighlander, who kept his slippered feet on the top of the stove, andwhose costume consisted of a kilt, a British warm, a grey hospitaldressing-gown, and four pairs of socks, told the story of the Cameronsat First Ypres, and of the Lowland subaltern who knew no Gaelic andsuddenly found himself encouraging his men with some ancient Highlandrigmarole. The poor chap had a racking bronchial cough, which suggestedthat his country might well use him on some warmer battle-ground thanFlanders. He seemed a bit of a scholar and explained the Cameronbusiness in a lot of long words. 

I remember how the talk meandered on as talk does when men are idle andthinking about the next day. I didn't pay much attention, for I wasreflecting on a change I meant to make in one of my battalion commands, when a fresh voice broke in. It belonged to a Canadian captain fromWinnipeg, a very silent fellow who smoked shag tobacco. 

'There's a lot of ghosts in this darned country, ' he said. 

Then he started to tell about what happened to him when his divisionwas last back in rest billets. He had a staff job and put up with thedivisional command at an old French chateau. They had only a little bitof the house; the rest was shut up, but the passages were so tortuousthat it was difficult to keep from wandering into the unoccupied part. One night, he said, he woke with a mighty thirst, and, since he wasn'tgoing to get cholera by drinking the local water in his bedroom, hestarted out for the room they messed in to try to pick up awhisky-and-soda. He couldn't find it, though he knew the road like hisown name. He admitted he might have taken a wrong turning, but hedidn't think so. Anyway he landed in a passage which he had never seenbefore, and, since he had no candle, he tried to retrace his steps. Again he went wrong, and groped on till he saw a faint light which hethought must be the room of the G. S. O. , a good fellow and a friend ofhis. So he barged in, and found a big, dim salon with two figures in itand a lamp burning between them, and a queer, unpleasant smell about. He took a step forward, and then he saw that the figures had no faces. That fairly loosened his joints with fear, and he gave a cry. One ofthe two ran towards him, the lamp went out, and the sickly scent caughtsuddenly at his throat. After that he knew nothing till he awoke in hisown bed next morning with a splitting headache. He said he got theGeneral's permission and went over all the unoccupied part of thehouse, but he couldn't find the room. Dust lay thick on everything, andthere was no sign of recent human presence. 

I give the story as he told it in his drawling voice. 'I reckon thatwas the genuine article in ghosts. You don't believe me and conclude Iwas drunk? I wasn't. There isn't any drink concocted yet that could layme out like that. I just struck a crack in the old universe and pushedmy head outside. It may happen to you boys any day. '

The Highlander began to argue with him, and I lost interest in thetalk. But one phrase brought me to attention. 'I'll give you the nameof the darned place, and next time you're around you can do a bit ofprospecting for yourself. It's called the Chateau of EaucourtSainte-Anne, about seven kilometres from Douvecourt. If I waspurchasing real estate in this country I guess I'd give that location amiss. '

After that I had a grim month, what with the finish of Third Ypres andthe hustles to Cambrai. By the middle of December we had shaken down abit, but the line my division held was not of our choosing, and we hadto keep a wary eye on the Boche doings. It was a weary job, and I hadno time to think of anything but the military kind ofintelligence--fixing the units against us from prisoners' stories, organizing small raids, and keeping the Royal Flying Corps busy. I waskeen about the last, and I made several trips myself over the lineswith Archie Roylance, who had got his heart's desire and by good luckbelonged to the squadron just behind me. I said as little as possibleabout this, for G. H. Q. Did not encourage divisional generals topractise such methods, though there was one famous army commander whomade a hobby of them. It was on one of these trips that an incidentoccurred which brought my spell of waiting on the bigger game to an end. 

One dull December day, just after luncheon, Archie and I set out toreconnoitre. You know the way that fogs in Picardy seem suddenly toreek out of the ground and envelop the slopes like a shawl. That wasour luck this time. We had crossed the lines, flying very high, andreceived the usual salute of Hun Archies. After a mile or two theground seemed to climb up to us, though we hadn't descended, andpresently we were in the heart of a cold, clinging mist. We dived forseveral thousand feet, but the confounded thing grew thicker and nosort of landmark could be found anywhere. I thought if we went on atthis rate we should hit a tree or a church steeple and be easy fruitfor the enemy. 

The same thought must have been in Archie's mind, for he climbed again. We got into a mortally cold zone, but the air was no clearer. Thereuponhe decided to head for home, and passed me word to work out a compasscourse on the map. That was easier said than done, but I had a roughnotion of the rate we had travelled since we had crossed the lines andI knew our original direction, so I did the best I could. On we wentfor a bit, and then I began to get doubtful. So did Archie. We droppedlow down, but we could hear none of the row that's always going on fora mile on each side of the lines. The world was very eerie and deadlystill, so still that Archie and I could talk through the speaking-tube. 

'We've mislaid this blamed battle, 'he shouted. 

'I think your rotten old compass has soured on us, ' I replied. 

We decided that it wouldn't do to change direction, so we held on thesame course. I was getting as nervous as a kitten, chiefly owing to thesilence. It's not what you expect in the middle of a battle-field ... Ilooked at the compass carefully and saw that it was really crocked. Archie must have damaged it on a former flight and forgotten to have itchanged. 

He had a very scared face when I pointed this out. 

'Great God!' he croaked--for he had a fearsome cold--'we're eitherabout Calais or near Paris or miles the wrong side of the Boche line. What the devil are we to do?'

And then to put the lid on it his engine went wrong. It was the sameperformance as on the Yorkshire moors, and seemed to be a speciality ofthe Shark-Gladas type. But this time the end came quick. We divedsteeply, and I could see by Archie's grip on the stick that he wasgoing to have his work cut out to save our necks. Save them he did, butnot by much for we jolted down on the edge of a ploughed field with aseries of bumps that shook the teeth in my head. It was the same dense, dripping fog, and we crawled out of the old bus and bolted for coverlike two ferreted rabbits. 

Our refuge was the lee of a small copse. 

'It's my opinion, ' said Archie solemnly, 'that we're somewhere about LaCateau. Tim Wilbraham got left there in the Retreat, and it took himnine months to make the Dutch frontier. It's a giddy prospect, sir. '

I sallied out to reconnoitre. At the other side of the wood was ahighway, and the fog so blanketed sound that I could not hear a man onit till I saw his face. The first one I saw made me lie flat in thecovert ... For he was a German soldier, field-grey, forage cap, redband and all, and he had a pick on his shoulder. 

A second's reflection showed me that this was not final proof. He mightbe one of our prisoners. But it was no place to take chances. I wentback to Archie, and the pair of us crossed the ploughed field andstruck the road farther on. There we saw a farmer's cart with a womanand child in it. They looked French, but melancholy, just what youwould expect from the inhabitants of a countryside in enemy occupation. 

Then we came to the park wall of a great house, and saw dimly theoutlines of a cottage. Here sooner or later we would get proof of ourwhereabouts, so we lay and shivered among the poplars of the roadside. No one seemed abroad that afternoon. For a quarter of an hour it was asquiet as the grave. Then came a sound of whistling, and muffled steps. 

'That's an Englishman, ' said Archie joyfully. 'No Boche could make sucha beastly noise. '

He was right. The form of an Army Service Corps private emerged fromthe mist, his cap on the back of his head, his hands in his pockets, and his walk the walk of a free man. I never saw a welcomer sight thanthat jam-merchant. 

We stood up and greeted him. 'What's this place?' I shouted. 

He raised a grubby hand to his forelock. ''Ockott Saint Anny, sir, ' hesaid. 'Beg pardon, sir, but you ain't whurt, sir?'

Ten minutes later I was having tea in the mess of an M. T. Workshopwhile Archie had gone to the nearest Signals to telephone for a car andgive instructions about his precious bus. It was almost dark, but Igulped my tea and hastened out into the thick dusk. For I wanted tohave a look at the Chateau. 

I found a big entrance with high stone pillars, but the iron gates werelocked and looked as if they had not been opened in the memory of man. Knowing the way of such places, I hunted for the side entrance andfound a muddy road which led to the back of the house. The front wasevidently towards a kind of park; at the back was a nest ofoutbuildings and a section of moat which looked very deep and black inthe winter twilight. This was crossed by a stone bridge with a door atthe end of it. 

Clearly the Chateau was not being used for billets. There was no signof the British soldier; there was no sign of anything human. I creptthrough the fog as noiselessly as if I trod on velvet, and I hadn'teven the company of my own footsteps. I remembered the Canadian's ghoststory, and concluded I would be imagining the same sort of thing if Ilived in such a place. 

The door was bolted and padlocked. I turned along the side of the moat, hoping to reach the house front, which was probably modern and boasteda civilized entrance. There must be somebody in the place, for onechimney was smoking. Presently the moat petered out, and gave place toa cobbled causeway, but a wall, running at right angles with the house, blocked my way. I had half a mind to go back and hammer at the door, but I reflected that major-generals don't pay visits to desertedchateaux at night without a reasonable errand. I should look a fool inthe eyes of some old concierge. The daylight was almost gone, and Ididn't wish to go groping about the house with a candle. 

But I wanted to see what was beyond the wall--one of those whims thatbeset the soberest men. I rolled a dissolute water-butt to the foot ofit, and gingerly balanced myself on its rotten staves. This gave me agrip on the flat brick top, and I pulled myself up. 

I looked down on a little courtyard with another wall beyond it, whichshut off any view of the park. On the right was the Chateau, on theleft more outbuildings; the whole place was not more than twenty yardseach way. I was just about to retire by the road I had come, for inspite of my fur coat it was uncommon chilly on that perch, when I hearda key turn in the door in the Chateau wall beneath me. 

A lantern made a blur of light in the misty darkness. I saw that thebearer was a woman, an oldish woman, round-shouldered like most Frenchpeasants. In one hand she carried a leather bag, and she moved sosilently that she must have worn rubber boots. The light was held levelwith her head and illumined her face. It was the evillest thing I haveever beheld, for a horrible scar had puckered the skin of the foreheadand drawn up the eyebrows so that it looked like some diabolicalChinese mask. 

Slowly she padded across the yard, carrying the bag as gingerly as ifit had been an infant. She stopped at the door of one of the outhousesand set down the lantern and her burden on the ground. From her apronshe drew something which looked like a gas-mask, and put it over herhead. She also put on a pair of long gauntlets. Then she unlocked thedoor, picked up the lantern and went in. I heard the key turn behindher. 

Crouching on that wall, I felt a very ugly tremor run down my spine. Ihad a glimpse of what the Canadian's ghost might have been. That hag, hooded like some venomous snake, was too much for my stomach. I droppedoff the wall and ran--yes, ran till I reached the highroad and saw thecheery headlights of a transport wagon, and heard the honest speech ofthe British soldier. That restored me to my senses, and made me feelevery kind of a fool. 

As I drove back to the line with Archie, I was black ashamed of myfunk. I told myself that I had seen only an old countrywoman going tofeed her hens. I convinced my reason, but I did not convince the wholeof me. An insensate dread of the place hung around me, and I could onlyretrieve my self-respect by resolving to return and explore every nookof it. 

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The Adventure of the Picardy Chateau

I looked up Eaucourt Sainte-Anne on the map, and the more I studied itsposition the less I liked it. It was the knot from which sprang all themain routes to our Picardy front. If the Boche ever broke us, it wasthe place for which old Hindenburg would make. At all hours troops andtransport trains were moving through that insignificant hamlet. Eminentgenerals and their staffs passed daily within sight of the Chateau. Itwas a convenient halting-place for battalions coming back to rest. Supposing, I argued, our enemies wanted a key-spot for some assaultupon the morale or the discipline or health of the British Army, theycouldn't find a better than Eaucourt Sainte-Anne. It was the idealcentre of espionage. But when I guardedly sounded my friends of theIntelligence they didn't seem to be worrying about it. 

From them I got a chit to the local French authorities, and, as soon aswe came out of the line, towards the end of December, I made straightfor the country town of Douvecourt. By a bit of luck our divisionalquarters were almost next door. I interviewed a tremendous swell in ablack uniform and black kid gloves, who received me affably and put hisarchives and registers at my disposal. By this time I talked Frenchfairly well, having a natural turn for languages, but half the rapidspeech of the _sous-prifet_ was lost on me. By and by he left me withthe papers and a clerk, and I proceeded to grub up the history of theChateau. 

It had belonged since long before Agincourt to the noble house of theD'Eaucourts, now represented by an ancient Marquise who dwelt atBiarritz. She had never lived in the place, which a dozen years beforehad been falling to ruins, when a rich American leased it and partiallyrestored it. He had soon got sick of it--his daughter had married ablackguard French cavalry officer with whom he quarrelled, said theclerk--and since then there had been several tenants. I wondered why ahouse so unattractive should have let so readily, but the clerkexplained that the cause was the partridge-shooting. It was about thebest in France, and in 1912 had shown the record bag. 

The list of the tenants was before me. There was a second American, anEnglishman called Halford, a Paris Jew-banker, and an Egyptian prince. But the space for 1913 was blank, and I asked the clerk about it. Hetold me that it had been taken by a woollen manufacturer from Lille, but he had never shot the partridges, though he had spent occasionalnights in the house. He had a five years' lease, and was still payingrent to the Marquise. I asked the name, but the clerk had forgotten. 'It will be written there, ' he said. 

'But, no, ' I said. 'Somebody must have been asleep over this register. There's nothing after 1912. '

He examined the page and blinked his eyes. 'Someone indeed must haveslept. No doubt it was young Louis who is now with the guns inChampagne. But the name will be on the Commissary's list. It is, as Iremember, a sort of Flemish. '

He hobbled off and returned in five minutes. 

'Bommaerts, ' he said, 'Jacques Bommaerts. A young man with no wife butwith money--Dieu de Dieu, what oceans of it!'

That clerk got twenty-five francs, and he was cheap at the price. Iwent back to my division with a sense of awe on me. It was a marvellousfate that had brought me by odd routes to this out-of-the-way corner. First, the accident of Hamilton's seeing Gresson; then the night in theClearing Station; last the mishap of Archie's plane getting lost in thefog. I had three grounds of suspicion--Gresson's sudden illness, theCanadian's ghost, and that horrid old woman in the dusk. And now I hadone tremendous fact. The place was leased by a man called Bommaerts, and that was one of the two names I had heard whispered in thatfar-away cleft in the Coolin by the stranger from the sea. 

A sensible man would have gone off to the contre-espionage people andtold them his story. I couldn't do this; I felt that it was my ownprivate find and I was going to do the prospecting myself. Every momentof leisure I had I was puzzling over the thing. I rode round by theChateau one frosty morning and examined all the entrances. The main onewas the grand avenue with the locked gates. That led straight to thefront of the house where the terrace was--or you might call it theback, for the main door was on the other side. Anyhow the drive came upto the edge of the terrace and then split into two, one branch going tothe stables by way of the outbuildings where I had seen the old woman, the other circling round the house, skirting the moat, and joining theback road just before the bridge. If I had gone to the right instead ofthe left that first evening with Archie, I should have circumnavigatedthe place without any trouble. 

Seen in the fresh morning light the house looked commonplace enough. Part of it was as old as Noah, but most was newish and jerry-built, thekind of flat-chested, thin French Chateau, all front and no depth, andfull of draughts and smoky chimneys. I might have gone in and ransackedthe place, but I knew I should find nothing. It was borne in on me thatit was only when evening fell that that house was interesting and thatI must come, like Nicodemus, by night. Besides I had a private accountto settle with my conscience. I had funked the place in the foggytwilight, and it does not do to let a matter like that slide. A man'scourage is like a horse that refuses a fence; you have got to take himby the head and cram him at it again. If you don't, he will funk worsenext time. I hadn't enough courage to be able to take chances with it, though I was afraid of many things, the thing I feared most mortallywas being afraid. 

I did not get a chance till Christmas Eve. The day before there hadbeen a fall of snow, but the frost set in and the afternoon ended in agreen sunset with the earth crisp and crackling like a shark's skin. Idined early, and took with me Geordie Hamilton, who added to his manyaccomplishments that of driving a car. He was the only man in theB. E. F. Who guessed anything of the game I was after, and I knew that hewas as discreet as a tombstone. I put on my oldest trench cap, slacks, and a pair of scaife-soled boots, that I used to change into in theevening. I had a useful little electric torch, which lived in mypocket, and from which a cord led to a small bulb of light that workedwith a switch and could be hung on my belt. That left my arms free incase of emergencies. Likewise I strapped on my pistol. 

There was little traffic in the hamlet of Eaucourt Sainte-Anne thatnight. Few cars were on the road, and the M. T. Detachment, judging fromthe din, seemed to be busy on a private spree. It was about nineo'clock when we turned into the side road, and at the entrance to it Isaw a solid figure in khaki mounting guard beside two bicycles. Something in the man's gesture, as he saluted, struck me as familiar, but I had no time to hunt for casual memories. I left the car justshort of the bridge, and took the road which would bring me to theterraced front of the house. 

Once I turned the corner of the Chateau and saw the long ghostly facadewhite in the moonlight, I felt less confident. The eeriness of theplace smote me. In that still, snowy world it loomed up immense andmysterious with its rows of shuttered windows, each with that air whichempty houses have of concealing some wild story. I longed to have oldPeter with me, for he was the man for this kind of escapade. I hadheard that he had been removed to Switzerland and I pictured him now insome mountain village where the snow lay deep. I would have givenanything to have had Peter with a whole leg by my side. 

I stepped on the terrace and listened. There was not a sound in theworld, not even the distant rumble of a cart. The pile towered above melike a mausoleum, and I reflected that it must take some nerve toburgle an empty house. It would be good enough fun to break into abustling dwelling and pinch the plate when the folk were at dinner, butto burgle emptiness and silence meant a fight with the terrors in aman's soul. It was worse in my case, for I wasn't cheered withprospects of loot. I wanted to get inside chiefly to soothe myconscience. 

I hadn't much doubt I would find a way, for three years of war and thefrequent presence of untidy headquarters' staffs have loosened thejoints of most Picardy houses. There's generally a window that doesn'tlatch or a door that doesn't bar. But I tried window after window onthe terrace without result. The heavy green sun-shutters were down overeach, and when I broke the hinges of one there was a long bar within tohold it firm. I was beginning to think of shinning up a rain-pipe andtrying the second floor, when a shutter I had laid hold on swung backin my hand. It had been left unfastened, and, kicking the snow from myboots, I entered a room. 

A gleam of moonlight followed me and I saw I was in a big salon with apolished wood floor and dark lumps of furniture swathed in sheets. Iclicked the bulb at my belt, and the little circle of light showed aplace which had not been dwelt in for years. At the far end was anotherdoor, and as I tiptoed towards it something caught my eye on theparquet. It was a piece of fresh snow like that which clumps on theheel of a boot. I had not brought it there. Some other visitor hadpassed this way, and not long before me. 

Very gently I opened the door and slipped in. In front of me was a pileof furniture which made a kind of screen, and behind that I halted andlistened. There was somebody in the room. I heard the sound of humanbreathing and soft movements; the man, whoever he was, was at the farend from me, and though there was a dim glow of Moon through a brokenshutter I could see nothing of what he was after. I was beginning toenjoy myself now. I knew of his presence and he did not know of mine, and that is the sport of stalking. 

An unwary movement of my hand caused the screen to creak. Instantly themovements ceased and there was utter silence. I held my breath, andafter a second or two the tiny sounds began again. I had a feeling, though my eyes could not assure me, that the man before me was at work, and was using a very small shaded torch. There was just the faintestmoving shimmer on the wall beyond, though that might come from thecrack of moonlight. 

Apparently he was reassured, for his movements became more distinct. There was a jar as if a table had been pushed back. Once more there wassilence, and I heard only the intake of breath. I have very quick ears, and to me it sounded as if the man was rattled. The breathing was quickand anxious. 

Suddenly it changed and became the ghost of a whistle--the kind ofsound one makes with the lips and teeth without ever letting the tunebreak out clear. We all do it when we are preoccupied withsomething--shaving, or writing letters, or reading the newspaper. But Idid not think my man was preoccupied. He was whistling to quietfluttering nerves. 

Then I caught the air. It was 'Cherry Ripe'. 

In a moment, from being hugely at my ease, I became the nervous one. Ihad been playing peep-bo with the unseen, and the tables were turned. My heart beat against my ribs like a hammer. I shuffled my feet, andagain there fell the tense silence. 

'Mary, ' I said--and the word seemed to explode like a bomb in thestillness--'Mary! It's me--Dick Hannay. '

There was no answer but a sob and the sound of a timid step. 

I took four paces into the darkness and caught in my arms a tremblinggirl ... 

Often in the last months I had pictured the kind of scene which wouldbe the culminating point of my life. When our work was over and war hadbeen forgotten, somewhere--perhaps in a green Cotswold meadow or in aroom of an old manor--I would talk with Mary. By that time we shouldknow each other well and I would have lost my shyness. I would try totell her that I loved her, but whenever I thought of what I should saymy heart sank, for I knew I would make a fool of myself. You can't livemy kind of life for forty years wholly among men and be of any use atpretty speeches to women. I knew I should stutter and blunder, and Iused despairingly to invent impossible situations where I might make mylove plain to her without words by some piece of melodramatic sacrifice. 

But the kind Fates had saved me the trouble. Without a syllable saveChristian names stammered in that eerie darkness we had come tocomplete understanding. The fairies had been at work unseen, and thethoughts of each of us had been moving towards the other, till love hadgerminated like a seed in the dark. As I held her in my arms I strokedher hair and murmured things which seemed to spring out of someancestral memory. Certainly my tongue had never used them before, normy mind imagined them ... By and by she slipped her arms round my neckand with a half sob strained towards me. She was still trembling. 

'Dick, ' she said, and to hear that name on her lips was the sweetestthing I had ever known. 'Dick, is it really you? Tell me I'm notdreaming. '

'It's me, sure enough, Mary dear. And now I have found you I will neverlet you go again. But, my precious child, how on earth did you gethere?'

She disengaged herself and let her little electric torch wander over myrough habiliments. 

'You look a tremendous warrior, Dick. I have never seen you like thisbefore. I was in Doubting Castle and very much afraid of Giant Despair, till you came. '

'I think I call it the Interpreter's House, ' I said. 

'It's the house of somebody we both know, ' she went on. 'He callshimself Bommaerts here. That was one of the two names, you remember. Ihave seen him since in Paris. Oh, it is a long story and you shall hearit all soon. I knew he came here sometimes, so I came here too. I havebeen nursing for the last fortnight at the Douvecourt Hospital onlyfour miles away. '

'But what brought you alone at night?'

'Madness, I think. Vanity, too. You see I had found out a good deal, and I wanted to find out the one vital thing which had puzzled MrBlenkiron. I told myself it was foolish, but I couldn't keep away. Andthen my courage broke down, and before you came I would have screamedat the sound of a mouse. If I hadn't whistled I would have cried. '

'But why alone and at this hour?'

'I couldn't get off in the day. And it was safest to come alone. Yousee he is in love with me, and when he heard I was coming to Douvecourtforgot his caution and proposed to meet me here. He said he was goingon a long journey and wanted to say goodbye. If he had found mealone--well, he would have said goodbye. If there had been anyone withme, he would have suspected, and he mustn't suspect me. Mr Blenkironsays that would be fatal to his great plan. He believes I am like myaunts, and that I think him an apostle of peace working by his ownmethods against the stupidity and wickedness of all the Governments. Hetalks more bitterly about Germany than about England. He had told mehow he had to disguise himself and play many parts on his mission, andof course I have applauded him. Oh, I have had a difficult autumn. '

'Mary, ' I cried, 'tell me you hate him. '

'No, ' she said quietly. 'I do not hate him. I am keeping that forlater. I fear him desperately. Some day when we have broken him utterlyI will hate him, and drive all likeness of him out of my memory like anunclean thing. But till then I won't waste energy on hate. We want tohoard every atom of our strength for the work of beating him. '

She had won back her composure, and I turned on my light to look ather. She was in nurses' outdoor uniform, and I thought her eyes seemedtired. The priceless gift that had suddenly come to me had driven outall recollection of my own errand. I thought of Ivery only as awould-be lover of Mary, and forgot the manufacturer from Lille who hadrented his house for the partridge-shooting. 'And you, Dick, ' sheasked; 'is it part of a general's duties to pay visits at night toempty houses?'

'I came to look for traces of M. Bommaerts. I, too, got on his trackfrom another angle, but that story must wait. '

'You observe that he has been here today?'

She pointed to some cigarette ash spilled on the table edge, and aspace on its surface cleared from dust. 'In a place like this the dustwould settle again in a few hours, and that is quite clean. I shouldsay he has been here just after luncheon. '

'Great Scott!' I cried, 'what a close shave! I'm in the mood at thismoment to shoot him at sight. You say you saw him in Paris and knew hislair. Surely you had a good enough case to have him collared. '

She shook her head. 'Mr Blenkiron--he's in Paris too--wouldn't hear ofit. He hasn't just figured the thing out yet, he says. We've identifiedone of your names, but we're still in doubt about Chelius. '

'Ah, Chelius! Yes, I see. We must get the whole business completebefore we strike. Has old Blenkiron had any luck?'

'Your guess about the "Deep-breathing" advertisement was very clever, Dick. It was true, and it may give us Chelius. I must leave MrBlenkiron to tell you how. But the trouble is this. We know somethingof the doings of someone who may be Chelius, but we can't link themwith Ivery. We know that Ivery is Bommaerts, and our hope is to linkBommaerts with Chelius. That's why I came here. I was trying to burglethis escritoire in an amateur way. It's a bad piece of fake Empire anddeserves smashing. '

I could see that Mary was eager to get my mind back to business, andwith some difficulty I clambered down from the exultant heights. Theintoxication of the thing was on me--the winter night, the circle oflight in that dreary room, the sudden coming together of two souls fromthe ends of the earth, the realization of my wildest hopes, the gildingand glorifying of all the future. But she had always twice as muchwisdom as me, and we were in the midst of a campaign which had no usefor day-dreaming. I turned my attention to the desk. 

It was a flat table with drawers, and at the back a half-circle of moredrawers with a central cupboard. I tilted it up and most of the drawersslid out, empty of anything but dust. I forced two open with my knifeand they held empty cigar boxes. Only the cupboard remained, and thatappeared to be locked. I wedged a key from my pocket into its keyhole, but the thing would not budge. 

'It's no good, ' I said. 'He wouldn't leave anything he valued in aplace like this. That sort of fellow doesn't take risks. If he wantedto hide something there are a hundred holes in this Chateau which wouldpuzzle the best detective. '

'Can't you open it?' she asked. 'I've a fancy about that table. He wassitting here this afternoon and he may be coming back. '

I solved the problem by turning up the escritoire and putting my kneethrough the cupboard door. Out of it tumbled a little dark-greenattache case. 

'This is getting solemn, ' said Mary. 'Is it locked?'

It was, but I took my knife and cut the lock out and spilled thecontents on the table. There were some papers, a newspaper or two, anda small bag tied with black cord. The last I opened, while Mary lookedover my shoulder. It contained a fine yellowish powder. 

'Stand back, ' I said harshly. 'For God's sake, stand back and don'tbreathe. '

With trembling hands I tied up the bag again, rolled it in a newspaper, and stuffed it into my pocket. For I remembered a day near Peronne whena Boche plane had come over in the night and had dropped little bagslike this. Happily they were all collected, and the men who found themwere wise and took them off to the nearest laboratory. They proved tobe full of anthrax germs ... 

I remembered how Eaucourt Sainte-Anne stood at the junction of a dozenroads where all day long troops passed to and from the lines. From sucha vantage ground an enemy could wreck the health of an army ... 

I remembered the woman I had seen in the courtyard of this house in thefoggy dusk, and I knew now why she had worn a gas-mask. 

This discovery gave me a horrid shock. I was brought down with a crashfrom my high sentiment to something earthly and devilish. I was fairlywell used to Boche filthiness, but this seemed too grim a piece of theutterly damnable. I wanted to have Ivery by the throat and force thestuff into his body, and watch him decay slowly into the horror he hadcontrived for honest men. 

'Let's get out of this infernal place, ' I said. 

But Mary was not listening. She had picked up one of the newspapers andwas gloating over it. I looked and saw that it was open at anadvertisement of Weissmann's 'Deep-breathing' system. 

'Oh, look, Dick, ' she cried breathlessly. 

The column of type had little dots made by a red pencil below certainwords. 

'It's it, ' she whispered, 'it's the cipher--I'm almost sure it's thecipher!'

'Well, he'd be likely to know it if anyone did. '

'But don't you see it's the cipher which Chelius uses--the man inSwitzerland? Oh, I can't explain now, for it's very long, but Ithink--I think--I have found out what we have all been wanting. Chelius... '

'Whisht!' I said. 'What's that?'

There was a queer sound from the out-of-doors as if a sudden wind hadrisen in the still night. 

'It's only a car on the main road, ' said Mary. 

'How did you get in?' I asked. 

'By the broken window in the next room. I cycled out here one morning, and walked round the place and found the broken catch. '

'Perhaps it is left open on purpose. That may be the way M. Bommaertsvisits his country home ... Let's get off, Mary, for this place has acurse on it. It deserves fire from heaven. '

I slipped the contents of the attache case into my pockets. 'I'm goingto drive you back, ' I said. 'I've got a car out there. '

'Then you must take my bicycle and my servant too. He's an old friendof yours--one Andrew Amos. '

'Now how on earth did Andrew get over here?'

'He's one of us, ' said Mary, laughing at my surprise. 'A most usefulmember of our party, at present disguised as an _infirmier_ in LadyManorwater's Hospital at Douvecourt. He is learning French, and ... '

'Hush!' I whispered. 'There's someone in the next room. '

I swept her behind a stack of furniture, with my eyes glued on a crackof light below the door. The handle turned and the shadows raced beforea big electric lamp of the kind they have in stables. I could not seethe bearer, but I guessed it was the old woman. 

There was a man behind her. A brisk step sounded on the parquet, and afigure brushed past her. It wore the horizon-blue of a French officer, very smart, with those French riding-boots that show the shape of theleg, and a handsome fur-lined pelisse. I would have called him a youngman, not more than thirty-five. The face was brown and clean-shaven, the eyes bright and masterful ... Yet he did not deceive me. I had notboasted idly to Sir Walter when I said that there was one man alive whocould never again be mistaken by me. 

I had my hand on my pistol, as I motioned Mary farther back into theshadows. For a second I was about to shoot. I had a perfect mark andcould have put a bullet through his brain with utter certitude. I thinkif I had been alone I might have fired. Perhaps not. Anyhow now I couldnot do it. It seemed like potting at a sitting rabbit. I was obliged, though he was my worst enemy, to give him a chance, while all the whilemy sober senses kept calling me a fool. 

I stepped into the light. 

'Hullo, Mr Ivery, ' I said. 'This is an odd place to meet again!'

In his amazement he fell back a step, while his hungry eyes took in myface. There was no mistake about the recognition. I saw something I hadseen once before in him, and that was fear. Out went the light and hesprang for the door. 

I fired in the dark, but the shot must have been too high. In the sameinstant I heard him slip on the smooth parquet and the tinkle of glassas the broken window swung open. Hastily I reflected that his car mustbe at the moat end of the terrace, and that therefore to reach it hemust pass outside this very room. Seizing the damaged escritoire, Iused it as a ram, and charged the window nearest me. The panes andshutters went with a crash, for I had driven the thing out of itsrotten frame. The next second I was on the moonlit snow. 

I got a shot at him as he went over the terrace, and again I went wide. I never was at my best with a pistol. Still I reckoned I had got him, for the car which was waiting below must come back by the moat to reachthe highroad. But I had forgotten the great closed park gates. Somehowor other they must have been opened, for as soon as the car started itheaded straight for the grand avenue. I tried a couple of long-rangeshots after it, and one must have damaged either Ivery or hischauffeur, for there came back a cry of pain. 

I turned in deep chagrin to find Mary beside me. She was bubbling withlaughter. 

'Were you ever a cinema actor, Dick? The last two minutes have been areally high-class performance. "Featuring Mary Lamington. " How does thejargon go?'

'I could have got him when he first entered, ' I said ruefully. 

'I know, ' she said in a graver tone. 'Only of course you couldn't ... Besides, Mr Blenkiron doesn't want it--yet. '

She put her hand on my arm. 'Don't worry about it. It wasn't written itshould happen that way. It would have been too easy. We have a longroad to travel yet before we clip the wings of the Wild Birds. '

'Look, ' I cried. 'The fire from heaven!'

Red tongues of flame were shooting up from the out-buildings at thefarther end, the place where I had first seen the woman. Some agreedplan must have been acted on, and Ivery was destroying all traces ofhis infamous yellow powder. Even now the concierge with her odds andends of belongings would be slipping out to some refuge in the village. 

In the still dry night the flames rose, for the place must have beenmade ready for a rapid burning. As I hurried Mary round the moat Icould see that part of the main building had caught fire. The hamletwas awakened, and before we reached the corner of the highroad sleepyBritish soldiers were hurrying towards the scene, and the Town Majorwas mustering the fire brigade. I knew that Ivery had laid his planswell, and that they hadn't a chance--that long before dawn the Chateauof Eaucourt Sainte-Anne would be a heap of ashes and that in a day ortwo the lawyers of the aged Marquise at Biarritz would be wranglingwith the insurance company. 

At the corner stood Amos beside two bicycles, solid as a graven image. He recognized me with a gap-toothed grin. 

'It's a cauld night, General, but the home fires keep burnin'. I havenaseen such a cheery lowe since Dickson's mill at Gawly. '

We packed, bicycles and all, into my car with Amos wedged in the narrowseat beside Hamilton. Recognizing a fellow countryman, he gave thanksfor the lift in the broadest Doric. 'For, ' said he, 'I'm not what youwould call a practised hand wi' a velocipede, and my feet are dinnledwi' standin' in the snaw. '

As for me, the miles to Douvecourt passed as in a blissful moment oftime. I wrapped Mary in a fur rug, and after that we did not speak aword. I had come suddenly into a great possession and was dazed withthe joy of it. 

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Mr Blenkiron Discourses on Love and War

Three days later I got my orders to report at Paris for specialservice. They came none too soon, for I chafed at each hour's delay. Every thought in my head was directed to the game which we were playingagainst Ivery. He was the big enemy, compared to whom the ordinaryBoche in the trenches was innocent and friendly. I had almost lostinterest in my division, for I knew that for me the real battle-frontwas not in Picardy, and that my job was not so easy as holding a lengthof line. Also I longed to be at the same work as Mary. 

I remember waking up in billets the morning after the night at theChateau with the feeling that I had become extraordinarily rich. I feltvery humble, too, and very kindly towards all the world--even to theBoche, though I can't say I had ever hated him very wildly. You findhate more among journalists and politicians at home than among fightingmen. I wanted to be quiet and alone to think, and since that wasimpossible I went about my work in a happy abstraction. I tried not tolook ahead, but only to live in the present, remembering that a war wason, and that there was desperate and dangerous business before me, andthat my hopes hung on a slender thread. Yet for all that I hadsometimes to let my fancies go free, and revel in delicious dreams. 

But there was one thought that always brought me back to hard ground, and that was Ivery. I do not think I hated anybody in the world buthim. It was his relation to Mary that stung me. He had the insolencewith all his toad-like past to make love to that clean and radiantgirl. I felt that he and I stood as mortal antagonists, and the thoughtpleased me, for it helped me to put some honest detestation into myjob. Also I was going to win. Twice I had failed, but the third time Ishould succeed. It had been like ranging shots for a gun--first short, second over, and I vowed that the third should be dead on the mark. 

I was summoned to G. H. Q. , where I had half an hour's talk with thegreatest British commander. I can see yet his patient, kindly face andthat steady eye which no vicissitude of fortune could perturb. He tookthe biggest view, for he was statesman as well as soldier, and knewthat the whole world was one battle-field and every man and woman amongthe combatant nations was in the battle-line. So contradictory is humannature, that talk made me wish for a moment to stay where I was. Iwanted to go on serving under that man. I realized suddenly how much Iloved my work, and when I got back to my quarters that night and saw mymen swinging in from a route march I could have howled like a dog atleaving them. Though I say it who shouldn't, there wasn't a betterdivision in the Army. 

One morning a few days later I picked up Mary in Amiens. I always likedthe place, for after the dirt of the Somme it was a comfort to go therefor a bath and a square meal, and it had the noblest church that thehand of man ever built for God. It was a clear morning when we startedfrom the boulevard beside the railway station; and the air smelt ofwashed streets and fresh coffee, and women were going marketing and thelittle trams ran clanking by, just as in any other city far from thesound of guns. There was very little khaki or horizon-blue about, and Iremember thinking how completely Amiens had got out of the war-zone. Two months later it was a different story. 

To the end I shall count that day as one of the happiest in my life. Spring was in the air, though the trees and fields had still theirwinter colouring. A thousand good fresh scents came out of the earth, and the larks were busy over the new furrows. I remember that we ran upa little glen, where a stream spread into pools among sallows, and theroadside trees were heavy with mistletoe. On the tableland beyond theSomme valley the sun shone like April. At Beauvais we lunched badly inan inn--badly as to food, but there was an excellent Burgundy at twofrancs a bottle. Then we slipped down through little flat-chestedtownships to the Seine, and in the late afternoon passed through StGermains forest. The wide green spaces among the trees set my fancydwelling on that divine English countryside where Mary and I would oneday make our home. She had been in high spirits all the journey, butwhen I spoke of the Cotswolds her face grew grave. 

'Don't let us speak of it, Dick, ' she said. 'It's too happy a thing andI feel as if it would wither if we touched it. I don't let myself thinkof peace and home, for it makes me too homesick ... I think we shallget there some day, you and I ... But it's a long road to theDelectable Mountains, and Faithful, you know, has to die first ... There is a price to be paid. '

The words sobered me. 

'Who is our Faithful?' I asked. 

'I don't know. But he was the best of the Pilgrims. '

Then, as if a veil had lifted, her mood changed, and when we camethrough the suburbs of Paris and swung down the Champs Elysees she wasin a holiday humour. The lights were twinkling in the blue Januarydusk, and the warm breath of the city came to greet us. I knew littleof the place, for I had visited it once only on a four days' Parisleave, but it had seemed to me then the most habitable of cities, andnow, coming from the battle-field with Mary by my side, it was like thehappy ending of a dream. 

I left her at her cousin's house near the Rue St Honore, and depositedmyself, according to instructions, at the Hotel Louis Quinze. There Iwallowed in a hot bath, and got into the civilian clothes which hadbeen sent on from London. They made me feel that I had taken leave ofmy division for good and all this time. Blenkiron had a private room, where we were to dine; and a more wonderful litter of books and cigarboxes I have never seen, for he hadn't a notion of tidiness. I couldhear him grunting at his toilet in the adjacent bedroom, and I noticedthat the table was laid for three. I went downstairs to get a paper, and on the way ran into Launcelot Wake. 

He was no longer a private in a Labour Battalion. Evening clothesshowed beneath his overcoat. 'Hullo, Wake, are you in this push too?'

'I suppose so, ' he said, and his manner was not cordial. 'Anyhow I wasordered down here. My business is to do as I am told. '

'Coming to dine?' I asked. 

'No. I'm dining with some friends at the Crillon. '

Then he looked me in the face, and his eyes were hot as I firstremembered them. 'I hear I've to congratulate you, Hannay, ' and he heldout a limp hand. 

I never felt more antagonism in a human being. 

'You don't like it?' I said, for I guessed what he meant. 

'How on earth can I like it?' he cried angrily. 'Good Lord, man, you'llmurder her soul. You an ordinary, stupid, successful fellow andshe--she's the most precious thing God ever made. You can neverunderstand a fraction of her preciousness, but you'll clip her wingsall right. She can never fly now ... '

He poured out this hysterical stuff to me at the foot of the staircasewithin hearing of an elderly French widow with a poodle. I had noimpulse to be angry, for I was far too happy. 

'Don't, Wake, ' I said. 'We're all too close together to quarrel. I'mnot fit to black Mary's shoes. You can't put me too low or her toohigh. But I've at least the sense to know it. You couldn't want me tobe humbler than I felt. '

He shrugged his shoulders, as he went out to the street. 'Your infernalmagnanimity would break any man's temper. '

I went upstairs to find Blenkiron, washed and shaven, admiring a pairof bright patent-leather shoes. 

'Why, Dick, I've been wearying bad to see you. I was nervous you wouldbe blown to glory, for I've been reading awful things about yourbattles in the noospapers. The war correspondents worry me so I can'ttake breakfast. '

He mixed cocktails and clinked his glass on mine. 'Here's to the younglady. I was trying to write her a pretty little sonnet, but the darnedrhymes wouldn't fit. I've gotten a heap of things to say to you whenwe've finished dinner. '

Mary came in, her cheeks bright from the weather, and Blenkironpromptly fell abashed. But she had a way to meet his shyness, for, whenhe began an embarrassed speech of good wishes, she put her arms roundhis neck and kissed him. Oddly enough, that set him completely at hisease. 

It was pleasant to eat off linen and china again, pleasant to see oldBlenkiron's benignant face and the way he tucked into his food, but itwas delicious for me to sit at a meal with Mary across the table. Itmade me feel that she was really mine, and not a pixie that wouldvanish at a word. To Blenkiron she bore herself like an affectionatebut mischievous daughter, while the desperately refined manners thatafflicted him whenever women were concerned mellowed into somethinglike his everyday self. They did most of the talking, and I remember hefetched from some mysterious hiding-place a great box of chocolates, which you could no longer buy in Paris, and the two ate them likespoiled children. I didn't want to talk, for it was pure happiness forme to look on. I loved to watch her, when the servants had gone, withher elbows on the table like a schoolboy, her crisp gold hair a littlerumpled, cracking walnuts with gusto, like some child who has beenallowed down from the nursery for dessert and means to make the most ofit. 

With his first cigar Blenkiron got to business. 

'You want to know about the staff-work we've been busy on at home. Well, it's finished now, thanks to you, Dick. We weren't getting onvery fast till you took to peroosing the press on your sick-bed anddropped us that hint about the "Deep-breathing" ads. '

'Then there was something in it?' I asked. 

'There was black hell in it. There wasn't any Gussiter, but there was amighty fine little syndicate of crooks with old man Gresson at the backof them. First thing, I started out to get the cipher. It took somelooking for, but there's no cipher on earth can't be got hold ofsomehow if you know it's there, and in this case we were helped a lotby the return messages in the German papers. It was bad stuff when weread it, and explained the darned leakages in important noos we've beenup against. At first I figured to keep the thing going and turnGussiter into a corporation with John S. Blenkiron as president. But itwouldn't do, for at the first hint of tampering with theircommunications the whole bunch got skeery and sent out SOS signals. Sowe tenderly plucked the flowers. '

'Gresson, too?' I asked. 

He nodded. 'I guess your seafaring companion's now under the sod. Wehad collected enough evidence to hang him ten times over ... But thatwas the least of it. For your little old cipher, Dick, gave us a lineon Ivery. '

I asked how, and Blenkiron told me the story. He had about a dozencross-bearings proving that the organization of the 'Deep-breathing'game had its headquarters in Switzerland. He suspected Ivery from thefirst, but the man had vanished out of his ken, so he started workingfrom the other end, and instead of trying to deduce the Swiss businessfrom Ivery he tried to deduce Ivery from the Swiss business. He went toBerne and made a conspicuous public fool of himself for several weeks. He called himself an agent of the American propaganda there, and tooksome advertising space in the press and put in spread-eagleannouncements of his mission, with the result that the Swiss Governmentthreatened to turn him out of the country if he tampered that amountwith their neutrality. He also wrote a lot of rot in the Genevanewspapers, which he paid to have printed, explaining how he was apacifist, and was going to convert Germany to peace by 'inspirationaladvertisement of pure-minded war aims'. All this was in keeping withhis English reputation, and he wanted to make himself a bait for Ivery. 

But Ivery did not rise to the fly, and though he had a dozen agentsworking for him on the quiet he could never hear of the name Chelius. That was, he reckoned, a very private and particular name among theWild Birds. However, he got to know a good deal about the Swiss end ofthe 'Deep-breathing' business. That took some doing and cost a lot ofmoney. His best people were a girl who posed as a mannequin in amilliner's shop in Lyons and a concierge in a big hotel at St Moritz. His most important discovery was that there was a second cipher in thereturn messages sent from Switzerland, different from the one that theGussiter lot used in England. He got this cipher, but though he couldread it he couldn't make anything out of it. He concluded that it was avery secret means of communication between the inner circle of the WildBirds, and that Ivery must be at the back of it ... But he was still along way from finding out anything that mattered. 

Then the whole situation changed, for Mary got in touch with Ivery. Imust say she behaved like a shameless minx, for she kept on writing tohim to an address he had once given her in Paris, and suddenly she gotan answer. She was in Paris herself, helping to run one of the railwaycanteens, and staying with her French cousins, the de Mezieres. One dayhe came to see her. That showed the boldness of the man, and hiscleverness, for the whole secret police of France were after him andthey never got within sight or sound. Yet here he was coming openly inthe afternoon to have tea with an English girl. It showed anotherthing, which made me blaspheme. A man so resolute and single-hearted inhis job must have been pretty badly in love to take a risk like that. 

He came, and he called himself the Capitaine Bommaerts, with atransport job on the staff of the French G. Q. G. He was on the staffright enough too. Mary said that when she heard that name she nearlyfell down. He was quite frank with her, and she with him. They are bothpeacemakers, ready to break the laws of any land for the sake of agreat ideal. Goodness knows what stuff they talked together. Mary saidshe would blush to think of it till her dying day, and I gathered thaton her side it was a mixture of Launcelot Wake at his most pedantic andschoolgirl silliness. 

He came again, and they met often, unbeknown to the decorous Madame deMezieres. They walked together in the Bois de Boulogne, and once, witha beating heart, she motored with him to Auteuil for luncheon. He spokeof his house in Picardy, and there were moments, I gathered, when hebecame the declared lover, to be rebuffed with a hoydenish shyness. Presently the pace became too hot, and after some anguished argumentswith Bullivant on the long-distance telephone she went off toDouvecourt to Lady Manorwater's hospital. She went there to escape fromhim, but mainly, I think, to have a look--trembling in every limb, mindyou--at the Chateau of Eaucourt Sainte-Anne. 

I had only to think of Mary to know just what Joan of Arc was. No manever born could have done that kind of thing. It wasn't recklessness. It was sheer calculating courage. 

Then Blenkiron took up the tale. The newspaper we found that ChristmasEve in the Chateau was of tremendous importance, for Bommaerts hadpricked out in the advertisement the very special second cipher of theWild Birds. That proved that Ivery was at the back of the Swissbusiness. But Blenkiron made doubly sure. 

'I considered the time had come, ' he said, 'to pay high for valuablenoos, so I sold the enemy a very pretty de-vice. If you ever gave yourmind to ciphers and illicit correspondence, Dick, you would know thatthe one kind of document you can't write on in invisible ink is acoated paper, the kind they use in the weeklies to print photographs ofleading actresses and the stately homes of England. Anything wet thattouches it corrugates the surface a little, and you can tell with amicroscope if someone's been playing at it. Well, we had the goodfortune to discover just how to get over that little difficulty--how towrite on glazed paper with a quill so as the cutest analyst couldn'tspot it, and likewise how to detect the writing. I decided to sacrificethat invention, casting my bread upon the waters and looking for agood-sized bakery in return ... I had it sold to the enemy. The jobwanted delicate handling, but the tenth man from me--he was an AustrianJew--did the deal and scooped fifty thousand dollars out of it. Then Ilay low to watch how my friend would use the de-vice, and I didn't waitlong. '

He took from his pocket a folded sheet of _L'Illustration_. Over aphotogravure plate ran some words in a large sprawling hand, as ifwritten with a brush. 

'That page when I got it yesterday, ' he said, 'was an unassumingpicture of General Petain presenting military medals. There wasn't ascratch or a ripple on its surface. But I got busy with it, and seethere!'

He pointed out two names. The writing was a set of key-words we did notknow, but two names stood out which I knew too well. They were'Bommaerts' and 'Chelius'. 

'My God!' I cried, 'that's uncanny. It only shows that if you chew longenough---'

'Dick, ' said Mary, 'you mustn't say that again. At the best it's anugly metaphor, and you're making it a platitude. '

'Who is Ivery anyhow?' I asked. 'Do you know more about him than weknew in the summer? Mary, what did Bommaerts pretend to be?'

'An Englishman. ' Mary spoke in the most matter-of-fact tone, as if itwere a perfectly usual thing to be made love to by a spy, and thatrather soothed my annoyance. 'When he asked me to marry him he proposedto take me to a country-house in Devonshire. I rather think, too, hehad a place in Scotland. But of course he's a German. '

'Ye-es, ' said Blenkiron slowly, 'I've got on to his record, and itisn't a pretty story. It's taken some working out, but I've got all thelinks tested now ... He's a Boche and a large-sized nobleman in his ownstate. Did you ever hear of the Graf von Schwabing?'

I shook my head. 

'I think I have heard Uncle Charlie speak of him, ' said Mary, wrinklingher brows. 'He used to hunt with the Pytchley. '

'That's the man. But he hasn't troubled the Pytchley for the last eightyears. There was a time when he was the last thing in smartness in theGerman court--officer in the Guards, ancient family, rich, darnedclever--all the fixings. Kaiser liked him, and it's easy to see why. Iguess a man who had as many personalities as the Graf was amusingafter-dinner company. Specially among the Germans, who in my experiencedon't excel in the lighter vein. Anyway, he was William's white-headedboy, and there wasn't a mother with a daughter who wasn't out gunningfor Otto von Schwabing. He was about as popular in London and NooYork--and in Paris, too. Ask Sir Walter about him, Dick. He says he hadtwice the brains of Kuhlmann, and better manners than the Austrianfellow he used to yarn about ... Well, one day there came an almightycourt scandal, and the bottom dropped out of the Graf's World. It was apretty beastly story, and I don't gather that Schwabing was as deep init as some others. But the trouble was that those others had to beshielded at all costs, and Schwabing was made the scapegoat. His namecame out in the papers and he had to go . '

'What was the case called?' I asked. 

Blenkiron mentioned a name, and I knew why the word Schwabiog wasfamiliar. I had read the story long ago in Rhodesia. 

'It was some smash, ' Blenkiron went on. 'He was drummed out of theGuards, out of the clubs, out of the country ... Now, how would youhave felt, Dick, if you had been the Graf? Your life and work andhappiness crossed out, and all to save a mangy princeling. "Bitter ashell, " you say. Hungering for a chance to put it across the lot thathad outed you? You wouldn't rest till you had William sobbing on hisknees asking your pardon, and you not thinking of granting it? That'sthe way you'd feel, but that wasn't the Graf's way, and what's more itisn't the German way. He went into exile hating humanity, and with aheart all poison and snakes, but itching to get back. And I'll tell youwhy. It's because his kind of German hasn't got any other home on thisearth. Oh, yes, I know there's stacks of good old Teutons come andsquat in our little country and turn into fine Americans. You can do alot with them if you catch them young and teach them the Declaration ofIndependence and make them study our Sunday papers. But you can't denythere's something comic in the rough about all Germans, before you'vecivilized them. They're a pecooliar people, a darned pecooliar people, else they wouldn't staff all the menial and indecent occupations on theglobe. But that pecooliarity, which is only skin-deep in the workingBoche, is in the bone of the grandee. Your German aristocracy can'tconsort on terms of equality with any other Upper Ten Thousand. Theyswagger and bluff about the world, but they know very well that theworld's sniggering at them. They're like a boss from Salt Creek Gullywho's made his pile and bought a dress suit and dropped into a Newportevening party. They don't know where to put their hands or how to keeptheir feet still ... Your copper-bottomed English nobleman has got tokeep jogging himself to treat them as equals instead of sending themdown to the servants' hall. Their fine fixings are just the high lightthat reveals the everlasting jay. They can't be gentlemen, because theyaren't sure of themselves. The world laughs at them, and they know itand it riles them like hell ... That's why when a Graf is booted out ofthe Fatherland, he's got to creep back somehow or be a wandering Jewfor the rest of time. '

Blenkiron lit another cigar and fixed me with his steady, ruminatingeye. 

'For eight years the man has slaved, body and soul, for the men whodegraded him. He's earned his restoration and I daresay he's got it inhis pocket. If merit was rewarded he should be covered with IronCrosses and Red Eagles ... He had a pretty good hand to start out with. He knew other countries and he was a dandy at languages. More, he hadan uncommon gift for living a part. That is real genius, Dick, howevermuch it gets up against us. Best of all he had a first-class outfit ofbrains. I can't say I ever struck a better, and I've come across somebright citizens in my time ... And now he's going to win out, unless weget mighty busy. '

There was a knock at the door and the solid figure of Andrew Amosrevealed itself. 

'It's time ye was home, Miss Mary. It chappit half-eleven as I came upthe stairs. It's comin' on to rain, so I've brought an umbrelly. '

'One word, ' I said. 'How old is the man?'

'Just gone thirty-six, ' Blenkiron replied. 

I turned to Mary, who nodded. 'Younger than you, Dick, ' she saidwickedly as she got into her big Jaeger coat. 

'I'm going to see you home, ' I said. 

'Not allowed. You've had quite enough of my society for one day. Andrew's on escort duty tonight. '

Blenkiron looked after her as the door closed. 

'I reckon you've got the best girl in the world. '

'Ivery thinks the same, ' I said grimly, for my detestation of the manwho had made love to Mary fairly choked me. 

'You can see why. Here's this degenerate coming out of his rottenclass, all pampered and petted and satiated with the easy pleasures oflife. He has seen nothing of women except the bad kind and the overfedspecimens of his own country. I hate being impolite about females, butI've always considered the German variety uncommon like cows. He hashad desperate years of intrigue and danger, and consorting with everykind of scallawag. Remember, he's a big man and a poet, with a brainand an imagination that takes every grade without changing gears. Suddenly he meets something that is as fresh and lovely as a springflower, and has wits too, and the steeliest courage, and yet is allyouth and gaiety. It's a new experience for him, a kind of revelation, and he's big enough to value her as she should be valued ... No, Dick, I can understand you getting cross, but I reckon it an item to theman's credit. '

'It's his blind spot all the same, ' I said. 

'His blind spot, ' Blenkiron repeated solemnly, 'and, please God, we'regoing to remember that. '

 * * * * *

Next morning in miserable sloppy weather Blenkiron carted me aboutParis. We climbed five sets of stairs to a flat away up in Montmartre, where I was talked to by a fat man with spectacles and a slow voice andtold various things that deeply concerned me. Then I went to a room inthe Boulevard St Germain, with a little cabinet opening off it, where Iwas shown papers and maps and some figures on a sheet of paper thatmade me open my eyes. We lunched in a modest cafe tucked away behindthe Palais Royal, and our companions were two Alsatians who spokeGerman better than a Boche and had no names--only numbers. In theafternoon I went to a low building beside the Invalides and saw manygenerals, including more than one whose features were familiar in twohemispheres. I told them everything about myself, and I was examinedlike a convict, and all particulars about my appearance and manner ofspeech written down in a book. That was to prepare the way for me, incase of need, among the vast army of those who work underground andknow their chief but do not know each other. 

The rain cleared before night, and Blenkiron and I walked back to thehotel through that lemon-coloured dusk that you get in a French winter. We passed a company of American soldiers, and Blenkiron had to stop andstare. I could see that he was stiff with pride, though he wouldn'tshow it. 

'What d'you think of that bunch?' he asked. 

'First-rate stuff, ' I said. 

'The men are all right, ' he drawled critically. 'But some of theofficer-boys are a bit puffy. They want fining down. '

'They'll get it soon enough, honest fellows. You don't keep your weightlong in this war. '

'Say, Dick, ' he said shyly, 'what do you truly think of our Americans?You've seen a lot of them, and I'd value your views. ' His tone was thatof a bashful author asking for an opinion on his first book. 

'I'll tell you what I think. You're constructing a great middle-classarmy, and that's the most formidable fighting machine on earth. Thiskind of war doesn't want the Berserker so much as the quiet fellow witha trained mind and a lot to fight for. The American ranks are filledwith all sorts, from cow-punchers to college boys, but mostly withdecent lads that have good prospects in life before them and arefighting because they feel they're bound to, not because they like it. It was the same stock that pulled through your Civil War. We have amiddle-class division, too--Scottish Territorials, mostly clerks andshopmen and engineers and farmers' sons. When I first struck them myonly crab was that the officers weren't much better than the men. It'sstill true, but the men are super-excellent, and consequently so arethe officers. That division gets top marks in the Boche calendar forsheer fighting devilment ... And, please God, that's what your Americanarmy's going to be. You can wash out the old idea of a regiment ofscallawags commanded by dukes. That was right enough, maybe, in thedays when you hurrooshed into battle waving a banner, but it don't dowith high explosives and a couple of million men on each side and abattle front of five hundred miles. The hero of this war is the plainman out of the middle class, who wants to get back to his home and isgoing to use all the brains and grit he possesses to finish the jobsoon. '

'That sounds about right, ' said Blenkiron reflectively. 'It pleases mesome, for you've maybe guessed that I respect the British Army quite alittle. Which part of it do you put top?'

'All of it's good. The French are keen judges and they give front placeto the Scots and the Australians. For myself I think the backbone ofthe Army is the old-fashioned English county regiments that hardly everget into the papers Though I don't know, if I had to pick, but I'd takethe South Africans. There's only a brigade of them, but they're hell'sdelight in a battle. But then you'll say I'm prejudiced. '

'Well, ' drawled Blenkiron, you're a mighty Empire anyhow. I'vesojourned up and down it and I can't guess how the old-time highbrowsin your little island came to put it together. But I'll let you into asecret, Dick. I read this morning in a noospaper that there was anatural affinity between Americans and the men of the BritishDominions. Take it from me, there isn't--at least not with thisAmerican. I don't understand them one little bit. When I see your lean, tall Australians with the sun at the back of their eyes, I'm looking atmen from another planet. Outside you and Peter, I never got to fathom aSouth African. The Canadians live over the fence from us, but you mixup a Canuck with a Yank in your remarks and you'll get a bat in the eye... But most of us Americans have gotten a grip on your Old Country. You'll find us mighty respectful to other parts of your Empire, but wesay anything we damn well please about England. You see, we know herthat well and like her that well, we can be free with her. 

'It's like, ' he concluded as we reached the hotel, 'it's like a lot ofboys that are getting on in the world and are a bit jealous andstand-offish with each other. But they're all at home with the old manwho used to warm them up with a hickory cane, even though sometimes intheir haste they call him a stand-patter. '

That night at dinner we talked solid business--Blenkiron and I and ayoung French Colonel from the IIIeme Section at G. Q. G. Blenkiron, Iremember, got very hurt about being called a business man by theFrenchman, who thought he was paying him a compliment. 

'Cut it out, ' he said. 'It is a word that's gone bad with me. There'sjust two kind of men, those who've gotten sense and those who haven't. A big percentage of us Americans make our living by trading, but wedon't think because a man's in business or even because he's made bigmoney that he's any natural good at every job. We've made a collegeprofessor our President, and do what he tells us like little boys, though he don't earn more than some of us pay our works' manager. YouEnglish have gotten business on the brain, and think a fellow's a dandyat handling your Government if he happens to have made a pile by someflat-catching ramp on your Stock Exchange. It makes me tired. You'reabout the best business nation on earth, but for God's sake don't beginto talk about it or you'll lose your power. And don't go confusing realbusiness with the ordinary gift of raking in the dollars. Any man withsense could make money if he wanted to, but he mayn't want. He mayprefer the fun of the job and let other people do the looting. I reckonthe biggest business on the globe today is the work behind your linesand the way you feed and supply and transport your army. It beats theSteel Corporation and the Standard Oil to a frazzle. But the man at thehead of it all don't earn more than a thousand dollars a month ... Yournation's getting to worship Mammon, Dick. Cut it out. There's just theone difference in humanity--sense or no sense, and most likely youwon't find any more sense in the man that makes a billion selling bondsthan in his brother Tim that lives in a shack and sells corn-cobs. I'mnot speaking out of sinful jealousy, for there was a day when I wasreckoned a railroad king, and I quit with a bigger pile than kingsusually retire on. But I haven't the sense of old Peter, who never evenhad a bank account ... And it's sense that wins in this war. '

The Colonel, who spoke good English, asked a question about a speechwhich some politician had made. 

'There isn't all the sense I'd like to see at the top, ' said Blenkiron. 'They're fine at smooth words. That wouldn't matter, but they'rethinking smooth thoughts. What d'you make of the situation, Dick?'

'I think it's the worst since First Ypres, ' I said. 'Everybody'scock-a-whoop, but God knows why. '

'God knows why, ' Blenkiron repeated. 'I reckon it's a simplecalculation, and you can't deny it any more than a mathematical law. Russia is counted out. The Boche won't get food from her for a goodmany months, but he can get more men, and he's got them. He's fightingonly on one foot, and he's been able to bring troops and guns west sohe's as strong as the Allies now on paper. And he's stronger inreality. He's got better railways behind him, and he's fighting oninside lines and can concentrate fast against any bit of our front. I'mno soldier, but that's so, Dick?'

The Frenchman smiled and shook his head. 'All the same they will notpass. They could not when they were two to one in 1914, and they willnot now. If we Allies could not break through in the last year when wehad many more men, how will the Germans succeed now with only equalnumbers?'

Blenkiron did not look convinced. 'That's what they all say. I talkedto a general last week about the coming offensive, and he said he waspraying for it to hurry up, for he reckoned Fritz would get the frightof his life. It's a good spirit, maybe, but I don't think it's sound onthe facts. We've got two mighty great armies of fine fighting-men, but, because we've two commands, we're bound to move ragged like a peal ofbells. The Hun's got one army and forty years of stiff tradition, and, what's more, he's going all out this time. He's going to smash ourfront before America lines up, or perish in the attempt ... Why do yousuppose all the peace racket in Germany has died down, and the very menthat were talking democracy in the summer are now hot for fighting to afinish? I'll tell you. It's because old Ludendorff has promised themcomplete victory this spring if they spend enough men, and the Boche isa good gambler and is out to risk it. We're not up against a localattack this time. We're standing up to a great nation going bald-headedfor victory or destruction. If we're broken, then America's got tofight a new campaign by herself when she's ready, and the Boche hastime to make Russia his feeding-ground and diddle our blockade. Thatputs another five years on to the war, maybe another ten. Are we freeand independent peoples going to endure that much? ... I tell you we'retossing to quit before Easter. '

He turned towards me, and I nodded assent. 

'That's more or less my view, ' I said. 'We ought to hold, but it'll beby our teeth and nails. For the next six months we'll be fightingwithout any margin. '

'But, my friends, you put it too gravely, ' cried the Frenchman. 'We maylose a mile or two of ground--yes. But serious danger is not possible. They had better chances at Verdun and they failed. Why should theysucceed now?'

'Because they are staking everything, ' Blenkiron replied. 'It is thelast desperate struggle of a wounded beast, and in these strugglessometimes the hunter perishes. Dick's right. We've got a wasting marginand every extra ounce of weight's going to tell. The battle's in thefield, and it's also in every corner of every Allied land. That's whywithin the next two months we've got to get even with the Wild Birds. '

The French Colonel--his name was de Valliere--smiled at the name, andBlenkiron answered my unspoken question. 

'I'm going to satisfy some of your curiosity, Dick, for I've puttogether considerable noos of the menagerie. Germany has a good army ofspies outside her borders. We shoot a batch now and then, but theothers go on working like beavers and they do a mighty deal of harm. They're beautifully organized, but they don't draw on such good humanmaterial as we, and I reckon they don't pay in results more than tencents on a dollar of trouble. But there they are. They're theintelligence officers and their business is just to forward noos. They're the birds in the cage, the--what is it your friend called them?'

'_Die Stubenvogel, _' I said. 

'Yes, but all the birds aren't caged. There's a few outside the barsand they don't collect noos. They do things. If there's anythingdesperate they're put on the job, and they've got power to act withoutwaiting on instructions from home. I've investigated till my brain'stired and I haven't made out more than half a dozen whom I can say forcertain are in the business. There's your pal, the Portuguese Jew, Dick. Another's a woman in Genoa, a princess of some sort married to aGreek financier. One's the editor of a pro-Ally up-country paper in theArgentine. One passes as a Baptist minister in Colorado. One was apolice spy in the Tzar's Government and is now a red-hot revolutionaryin the Caucasus. And the biggest, of course, is Moxon Ivery, who inhappier times was the Graf von Schwabing. There aren't above a hundredpeople in the world know of their existence, and these hundred callthem the Wild Birds. '

'Do they work together?' I asked. 

'Yes. They each get their own jobs to do, but they're apt to flocktogether for a big piece of devilment. There were four of them inFrance a year ago before the battle of the Aisne, and they pretty nearrotted the French Army. That's so, Colonel?'

The soldier nodded grimly. 'They seduced our weary troops and theybought many politicians. Almost they succeeded, but not quite. Thenation is sane again, and is judging and shooting the accomplices atits leisure. But the principals we have never caught. '

'You hear that, Dick, said Blenkiron. 'You're satisfied this isn't awhimsy of a melodramatic old Yank? I'll tell you more. You know howIvery worked the submarine business from England. Also, it was the WildBirds that wrecked Russia. It was Ivery that paid the Bolshevists tosedooce the Army, and the Bolshevists took his money for their ownpurpose, thinking they were playing a deep game, when all the time hewas grinning like Satan, for they were playing his. It was Ivery orsome other of the bunch that doped the brigades that broke atCaporetto. If I started in to tell you the history of their doings youwouldn't go to bed, and if you did you wouldn't sleep ... There's justthis to it. Every finished subtle devilry that the Boche has wroughtamong the Allies since August 1914 has been the work of the Wild Birdsand more or less organized by Ivery. They're worth half a dozen armycorps to Ludendorff. They're the mightiest poison merchants the worldever saw, and they've the nerve of hell ... '

'I don't know, ' I interrupted. 'Ivery's got his soft spot. I saw him inthe Tube station. '

'Maybe, but he's got the kind of nerve that's wanted. And now I ratherfancy he's whistling in his flock. '

Blenkiron consulted a notebook. 'Pavia--that's the Argentineman--started last month for Europe. He transhipped from a coastingsteamer in the West Indies and we've temporarily lost track of him, buthe's left his hunting-ground. What do you reckon that means?'

'It means, ' Blenkiron continued solemnly, 'that Ivery thinks the game'snearly over. The play's working up for the big climax ... And thatclimax is going to be damnation for the Allies, unless we get a moveon. '

'Right, ' I said. 'That's what I'm here for. What's the move?'

'The Wild Birds mustn't ever go home, and the man they call Ivery orBommaerts or Chelius has to decease. It's a cold-blooded proposition, but it's him or the world that's got to break. But before he quits thisearth we're bound to get wise about some of his plans, and that meansthat we can't just shoot a pistol at his face. Also we've got to findhim first. We reckon he's in Switzerland, but that is a state withquite a lot of diversified scenery to lose a man in ... Still I guesswe'll find him. But it's the kind of business to plan out as carefullyas a battle. I'm going back to Berne on my old stunt to boss the show, and I'm giving the orders. You're an obedient child, Dick, so I don'treckon on any trouble that way. '

Then Blenkiron did an ominous thing. He pulled up a little table andstarted to lay out Patience cards. Since his duodenum was cured heseemed to have dropped that habit, and from his resuming it I gatheredthat his mind was uneasy. I can see that scene as if it wereyesterday--the French colonel in an armchair smoking a cigarette in along amber holder, and Blenkiron sitting primly on the edge of a yellowsilk ottoman, dealing his cards and looking guiltily towards me. 

'You'll have Peter for company, ' he said. 'Peter's a sad man, but hehas a great heart, and he's been mighty useful to me already. They'regoing to move him to England very soon. The authorities are afraid ofhim, for he's apt to talk wild, his health having made him peevishabout the British. But there's a deal of red-tape in the world, and theorders for his repatriation are slow in coming. ' The speaker winkedvery slowly and deliberately with his left eye. 

I asked if I was to be with Peter, much cheered at the prospect. 

'Why, yes. You and Peter are the collateral in the deal. But the biggame's not with you. '

I had a presentiment of something coming, something anxious andunpleasant. 

'Is Mary in it?' I asked. 

He nodded and seemed to pull himself together for an explanation. 

'See here, Dick. Our main job is to get Ivery back to Allied soil wherewe can handle him. And there's just the one magnet that can fetch himback. You aren't going to deny that. '

I felt my face getting very red, and that ugly hammer began beating inmy forehead. Two grave, patient eyes met my glare. 

'I'm damned if I'll allow it!' I cried. 'I've some right to a say inthe thing. I won't have Mary made a decoy. It's too infernallydegrading. '

'It isn't pretty, but war isn't pretty, and nothing we do is pretty. I'd have blushed like a rose when I was young and innocent to imaginethe things I've put my hand to in the last three years. But have youany other way, Dick? I'm not proud, and I'll scrap the plan if you canshow me another ... Night after night I've hammered the thing out, andI can't hit on a better ... Heigh-ho, Dick, this isn't like you, ' andhe grinned ruefully. 'You're making yourself a fine argument in favourof celibacy--in time of war, anyhow. What is it the poet sings?--

 White hands cling to the bridle rein, Slipping the spur from the booted heel--'

I was as angry as sin, but I felt all the time I had no case. Blenkironstopped his game of Patience, sending the cards flying over the carpet, and straddled on the hearthrug. 

'You're never going to be a piker. What's dooty, if you won't carry itto the other side of Hell? What's the use of yapping about your countryif you're going to keep anything back when she calls for it? What's thegood of meaning to win the war if you don't put every cent you've goton your stake? You'll make me think you're like the jacks in yourEnglish novels that chuck in their hand and say it's up to God, andcall that "seeing it through" ... No, Dick, that kind of dooty don'tdeserve a blessing. You dursn't keep back anything if you want to saveyour soul. 

'Besides, ' he went on, 'what a girl it is! She can't scare and shecan't soil. She's white-hot youth and innocence, and she'd take no moreharm than clean steel from a muck-heap. '

I knew I was badly in the wrong, but my pride was all raw. 

'I'm not going to agree till I've talked to Mary. '

'But Miss Mary has consented, ' he said gently. 'She made the plan. '

 * * * * *

Next day, in clear blue weather that might have been May, I drove Marydown to Fontainebleau. We lunched in the inn by the bridge and walkedinto the forest. I hadn't slept much, for I was tortured by what Ithought was anxiety for her, but which was in truth jealousy of Ivery. I don't think that I would have minded her risking her life, for thatwas part of the game we were both in, but I jibbed at the notion ofIvery coming near her again. I told myself it was honourable pride, butI knew deep down in me that it was jealousy. 

I asked her if she had accepted Blenkiron's plan, and she turnedmischievous eyes on me. 

'I knew I should have a scene with you, Dick. I told Mr Blenkiron so... Of course I agreed. I'm not even very much afraid of it. I'm amember of the team, you know, and I must play up to my form. I can't doa man's work, so all the more reason why I should tackle the thing Ican do. '

'But, ' I stammered, 'it's such a ... Such a degrading business for achild like you. I can't bear ... It makes me hot to think of it. '

Her reply was merry laughter. 

'You're an old Ottoman, Dick. You haven't doubled Cape Turk yet, and Idon't believe you're round Seraglio Point. Why, women aren't thebrittle things men used to think them. They never were, and the war hasmade them like whipcord. Bless you, my dear, we're the tougher sex now. We've had to wait and endure, and we've been so beaten on the anvil ofpatience that we've lost all our megrims. '

She put her hands on my shoulders and looked me in the eyes. 

'Look at me, Dick, look at your someday-to-be espoused saint. I'mnineteen years of age next August. Before the war I should have onlyjust put my hair up. I should have been the kind of shivering debutantewho blushes when she's spoken to, and oh! I should have thought suchsilly, silly things about life ... Well, in the last two years I'vebeen close to it, and to death. I've nursed the dying. I've seen soulsin agony and in triumph. England has allowed me to serve her as sheallows her sons. Oh, I'm a robust young woman now, and indeed I thinkwomen were always robuster than men ... Dick, dear Dick, we're lovers, but we're comrades too--always comrades, and comrades trust each other. '

I hadn't anything to say, except contrition, for I had my lesson. I hadbeen slipping away in my thoughts from the gravity of our task, andMary had brought me back to it. I remember that as we walked throughthe woodland we came to a place where there were no signs of war. Elsewhere there were men busy felling trees, and anti-aircraft guns, and an occasional transport wagon, but here there was only a shallowgrassy vale, and in the distance, bloomed over like a plum in theevening haze, the roofs of an old dwelling-house among gardens. 

Mary clung to my arm as we drank in the peace of it. 

'That is what lies for us at the end of the road, Dick, ' she saidsoftly. 

And then, as she looked, I felt her body shiver. She returned to thestrange fancy she had had in the St Germains woods three days before. 

'Somewhere it's waiting for us and we shall certainly find it ... Butfirst we must go through the Valley of the Shadow ... And there is thesacrifice to be made ... The best of us. '

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

St Anton

Ten days later the porter Joseph Zimmer of Arosa, clad in the tough andshapeless trousers of his class, but sporting an old velveteenshooting-coat bequeathed to him by a former German master--speaking theguttural tongue of the Grisons, and with all his belongings in onemassive rucksack, came out of the little station of St Anton andblinked in the frosty sunshine. He looked down upon the little oldvillage beside its icebound lake, but his business was with the newvillage of hotels and villas which had sprung up in the last ten yearssouth of the station. He made some halting inquiries of the stationpeople, and a cab-driver outside finally directed him to the place hesought--the cottage of the Widow Summermatter, where resided an Englishintern, one Peter Pienaar. 

The porter Joseph Zimmer had had a long and roundabout journey. Afortnight before he had worn the uniform of a British major-general. Assuch he had been the inmate of an expensive Paris hotel, till onemorning, in grey tweed clothes and with a limp, he had taken theParis-Mediterranean Express with a ticket for an officers' convalescenthome at Cannes. Thereafter he had declined in the social scale. AtDijon he had been still an Englishman, but at Pontarlier he had becomean American bagman of Swiss parentage, returning to wind up hisfather's estate. At Berne he limped excessively, and at Zurich, at alittle back-street hotel, he became frankly the peasant. For he met afriend there from whom he acquired clothes with that odd rank smell, far stronger than Harris tweed, which marks the raiment of most Swissguides and all Swiss porters. He also acquired a new name and an oldaunt, who a little later received him with open arms and explained toher friends that he was her brother's son from Arosa who three wintersago had hurt his leg wood-cutting and had been discharged from the levy. 

A kindly Swiss gentleman, as it chanced, had heard of the deservingJoseph and interested himself to find him employment. The saidphilanthropist made a hobby of the French and British prisonersreturned from Germany, and had in mind an officer, a crabbed SouthAfrican with a bad leg, who needed a servant. He was, it seemed, anill-tempered old fellow who had to be billeted alone, and since hecould speak German, he would be happier with a Swiss native. Josephhaggled somewhat over the wages, but on his aunt's advice he acceptedthe job, and, with a very complete set of papers and a store ofready-made reminiscences (it took him some time to swot up the names ofthe peaks and passes he had traversed) set out for St Anton, havingdispatched beforehand a monstrously ill-spelt letter announcing hiscoming. He could barely read and write, but he was good at maps, whichhe had studied carefully, and he noticed with satisfaction that thevalley of St Anton gave easy access to Italy. 

As he journeyed south the reflections of that porter would havesurprised his fellow travellers in the stuffy third-class carriage. Hewas thinking of a conversation he had had some days before in a cafe atDijon with a young Englishman bound for Modane ... 

We had bumped up against each other by chance in that strange flittingwhen all went to different places at different times, asking nothing ofeach other's business. Wake had greeted me rather shamefacedly and hadproposed dinner together. 

I am not good at receiving apologies, and Wake's embarrassed me morethan they embarrassed him. 'I'm a bit of a cad sometimes, ' he said. 'You know I'm a better fellow than I sounded that night, Hannay. '

I mumbled something about not talking rot--the conventional phrase. What worried me was that the man was suffering. You could see it in hiseyes. But that evening I got nearer Wake than ever before, and he and Ibecame true friends, for he laid bare his soul before me. That was histrouble, that he could lay bare his soul, for ordinary healthy folkdon't analyse their feelings. Wake did, and I think it brought himrelief. 

'Don't think I was ever your rival. I would no more have proposed toMary than I would have married one of her aunts. She was so sure ofherself, so happy in her single-heartedness that she terrified me. Mytype of man is not meant for marriage, for women must be in the centreof life, and we must always be standing aside and looking on. It is adamnable thing to be left-handed. '

'The trouble about you, my dear chap, ' I said, 'is that you're too hardto please. '

'That's one way of putting it. I should put it more harshly. I hatemore than I love. All we humanitarians and pacifists have hatred as ourmainspring. Odd, isn't it, for people who preach brotherly love? Butit's the truth. We're full of hate towards everything that doesn'tsquare in with our ideas, everything that jars on our lady-like nerves. Fellows like you are so in love with their cause that they've no timeor inclination to detest what thwarts them. We've no cause--onlynegatives, and that means hatred, and self-torture, and a beastlyjaundice of soul. '

Then I knew that Wake's fault was not spiritual pride, as I haddiagnosed it at Biggleswick. The man was abased with humility. 

'I see more than other people see, ' he went on, 'and I feel more. That's the curse on me. You're a happy man and you get things done, because you only see one side of a case, one thing at a time. How wouldyou like it if a thousand strings were always tugging at you, if yousaw that every course meant the sacrifice of lovely and desirablethings, or even the shattering of what you know to be unreplaceable?I'm the kind of stuff poets are made of, but I haven't the poet's gift, so I stagger about the world left-handed and game-legged ... Take thewar. For me to fight would be worse than for another man to run away. From the bottom of my heart I believe that it needn't have happened, and that all war is a blistering iniquity. And yet belief has got verylittle to do with virtue. I'm not as good a man as you, Hannay, whohave never thought out anything in your life. My time in the Labourbattalion taught me something. I knew that with all my fine aspirationsI wasn't as true a man as fellows whose talk was silly oaths and whodidn't care a tinker's curse about their soul. '

I remember that I looked at him with a sudden understanding. 'I think Iknow you. You're the sort of chap who won't fight for his countrybecause he can't be sure that she's altogether in the right. But he'dcheerfully die for her, right or wrong. '

His face relaxed in a slow smile. 'Queer that you should say that. Ithink it's pretty near the truth. Men like me aren't afraid to die, butthey haven't quite the courage to live. Every man should be happy in aservice like you, when he obeys orders. I couldn't get on in anyservice. I lack the bump of veneration. I can't swallow things merelybecause I'm told to. My sort are always talking about "service", but wehaven't the temperament to serve. I'd give all I have to be an ordinarycog in the wheel, instead of a confounded outsider who finds fault withthe machinery ... Take a great violent high-handed fellow like you. Youcan sink yourself till you become only a name and a number. I couldn'tif I tried. I'm not sure if I want to either. I cling to the odds andends that are my own. '

'I wish I had had you in my battalion a year ago, ' I said. 

'No, you don't. I'd only have been a nuisance. I've been a Fabian sinceOxford, but you're a better socialist than me. I'm a rancidindividualist. '

'But you must be feeling better about the war?' I asked. 

'Not a bit of it. I'm still lusting for the heads of the politiciansthat made it and continue it. But I want to help my country. Honestly, Hannay, I love the old place. More, I think, than I love myself, andthat's saying a devilish lot. Short of fighting--which would be the sinagainst the Holy Spirit for me--I'll do my damnedest. But you'llremember I'm not used to team work. If I'm a jealous player, beat meover the head. '

His voice was almost wistful, and I liked him enormously. 

'Blenkiron will see to that, ' I said. 'We're going to break you toharness, Wake, and then you'll be a happy man. You keep your mind onthe game and forget about yourself. That's the cure for jibbers. '

As I journeyed to St Anton I thought a lot about that talk. He wasquite right about Mary, who would never have married him. A man withsuch an angular soul couldn't fit into another's. And then I thoughtthat the chief thing about Mary was just her serene certainty. Her eyeshad that settled happy look that I remembered to have seen only in oneother human face, and that was Peter's ... But I wondered if Peter'seyes were still the same. 

I found the cottage, a little wooden thing which had been left perchedon its knoll when the big hotels grew around it. It had a fence infront, but behind it was open to the hillside. At the gate stood a bentold woman with a face like a pippin. My make-up must have been good, for she accepted me before I introduced myself. 

'God be thanked you are come, ' she cried. 'The poor lieutenant needed aman to keep him company. He sleeps now, as he does always in theafternoon, for his leg wearies him in the night ... But he is brave, like a soldier ... Come, I will show you the house, for you two will bealone now. '

Stepping softly she led me indoors, pointing with a warning finger tothe little bedroom where Peter slept. I found a kitchen with a bigstove and a rough floor of planking, on which lay some badly curedskins. Off it was a sort of pantry with a bed for me. She showed me thepots and pans for cooking and the stores she had laid in, and where tofind water and fuel. 'I will do the marketing daily, ' she said, 'and ifyou need me, my dwelling is half a mile up the road beyond the newchurch. God be with you, young man, and be kind to that wounded one. '

When the Widow Summermatter had departed I sat down in Peter'sarm-chair and took stock of the place. It was quiet and simple andhomely, and through the window came the gleam of snow on the diamondhills. On the table beside the stove were Peter's cherishedbelongings--his buck-skin pouch and the pipe which Jannie Grobelaar hadcarved for him in St Helena, an aluminium field match-box I had givenhim, a cheap large-print Bible such as padres present to well-disposedprivates, and an old battered _Pilgrim's Progress_ with gaudy pictures. The illustration at which I opened showed Faithful going up to Heavenfrom the fire of Vanity Fair like a woodcock that has just beenflushed. Everything in the room was exquisitely neat, and I knew thatthat was Peter and not the Widow Summermatter. On a peg behind the doorhung his much-mended coat, and sticking out of a pocket I recognized asheaf of my own letters. In one corner stood something which I hadforgotten about--an invalid chair. 

The sight of Peter's plain little oddments made me feel solemn. Iwondered if his eyes would be like Mary's now, for I could not conceivewhat life would be for him as a cripple. Very silently I opened thebedroom door and slipped inside. 

He was lying on a camp bedstead with one of those striped Swissblankets pulled up round his ears, and he was asleep. It was the oldPeter beyond doubt. He had the hunter's gift of breathing evenlythrough his nose, and the white scar on the deep brown of his foreheadwas what I had always remembered. The only change since I last saw himwas that he had let his beard grow again, and it was grey. 

As I looked at him the remembrance of all we had been through togetherflooded back upon me, and I could have cried with joy at being besidehim. Women, bless their hearts! can never know what long comradeshipmeans to men; it is something not in their lives--something thatbelongs only to that wild, undomesticated world which we forswear whenwe find our mates. Even Mary understood only a bit of it. I had justwon her love, which was the greatest thing that ever came my way, butif she had entered at that moment I would scarcely have turned my head. I was back again in the old life and was not thinking of the new. 

Suddenly I saw that Peter was awake and was looking at me. 

'Dick, ' he said in a whisper, 'Dick, my old friend. '

The blanket was tossed off, and his long, lean arms were stretched outto me. I gripped his hands, and for a little we did not speak. Then Isaw how woefully he had changed. His left leg had shrunk, and from theknee down was like a pipe stem. His face, when awake, showed the linesof hard suffering and he seemed shorter by half a foot. But his eyeswere still like Mary's. Indeed they seemed to be more patient andpeaceful than in the days when he sat beside me on the buck-waggon andpeered over the hunting-veld. 

I picked him up--he was no heavier than Mary--and carried him to hischair beside the stove. Then I boiled water and made tea, as we had sooften done together. 

'Peter, old man, ' I said, 'we're on trek again, and this is a very snuglittle _rondavel_. We've had many good yarns, but this is going to bethe best. First of all, how about your health?'

'Good, I'm a strong man again, but slow like a hippo cow. I have beenlonely sometimes, but that is all by now. Tell me of the big battles. '

But I was hungry for news of him and kept him to his own case. He hadno complaint of his treatment except that he did not like Germans. Thedoctors at the hospital had been clever, he said, and had done theirbest for him, but nerves and sinews and small bones had been so wreckedthat they could not mend his leg, and Peter had all the Boer's dislikeof amputation. One doctor had been in Damaraland and talked to him ofthose baked sunny places and made him homesick. But he returned alwaysto his dislike of Germans. He had seen them herding our soldiers likebrute beasts, and the commandant had a face like Stumm and a chin thatstuck out and wanted hitting. He made an exception for the great airmanLensch, who had downed him. 

'He is a white man, that one, ' he said. 'He came to see me in hospitaland told me a lot of things. I think he made them treat me well. He isa big man, Dick, who would make two of me, and he has a round, merryface and pale eyes like Frickie Celliers who could put a bullet througha pauw's head at two hundred yards. He said he was sorry I was lame, for he hoped to have more fights with me. Some woman that tellsfortunes had said that I would be the end of him, but he reckoned shehad got the thing the wrong way on. I hope he will come through thiswar, for he is a good man, though a German ... But the others! They arelike the fool in the Bible, fat and ugly in good fortune and proud andvicious when their luck goes. They are not a people to be happy with. '

Then he told me that to keep up his spirits he had amused himself withplaying a game. He had prided himself on being a Boer, and spokencoldly of the British. He had also, I gathered, imparted many thingscalculated to deceive. So he left Germany with good marks, and inSwitzerland had held himself aloof from the other British wounded, onthe advice of Blenkiron, who had met him as soon as he crossed thefrontier. I gathered it was Blenkiron who had had him sent to St Anton, and in his time there, as a disgruntled Boer, he had mixed a good dealwith Germans. They had pumped him about our air service, and Peter hadtold them many ingenious lies and heard curious things in return. 

'They are working hard, Dick, ' he said. 'Never forget that. The Germanis a stout enemy, and when we beat him with a machine he sweats till hehas invented a new one. They have great pilots, but never so many goodones as we, and I do not think in ordinary fighting they can ever beatus. But you must watch Lensch, for I fear him. He has a new machine, Ihear, with great engines and a short wingspread, but the wings socambered that he can climb fast. That will be a surprise to spring uponus. You will say that we'll soon better it. So we shall, but if it wasused at a time when we were pushing hard it might make the littledifference that loses battles. '

'You mean, ' I said, 'that if we had a great attack ready and had drivenall the Boche planes back from our front, Lensch and his circus mightget over in spite of us and blow the gaff?'

'Yes, ' he said solemnly. 'Or if we were attacked, and had a weak spot, Lensch might show the Germans where to get through. I do not think weare going to attack for a long time; but I am pretty sure that Germanyis going to fling every man against us. That is the talk of my friends, and it is not bluff. '

 * * * * *

That night I cooked our modest dinner, and we smoked our pipes with thestove door open and the good smell of woodsmoke in our nostrils. I toldhim of all my doings and of the Wild Birds and Ivery and the job wewere engaged on. Blenkiron's instructions were that we two should livehumbly and keep our eyes and ears open, for we were outsidesuspicion--the cantankerous lame Boer and his loutish servant fromArosa. Somewhere in the place was a rendezvous of our enemies, andthither came Chelius on his dark errands. 

Peter nodded his head sagely, 'I think I have guessed the place. Thedaughter of the old woman used to pull my chair sometimes down to thevillage, and I have sat in cheap inns and talked to servants. There isa fresh-water pan there, it is all covered with snow now, and beside itthere is a big house that they call the Pink Chalet. I do not know muchabout it, except that rich folk live in it, for I know the other housesand they are harmless. Also the big hotels, which are too cold andpublic for strangers to meet in. '

I put Peter to bed, and it was a joy to me to look after him, to givehim his tonic and prepare the hot water bottle that comforted hisneuralgia. His behaviour was like a docile child's, and he never lapsedfrom his sunny temper, though I could see how his leg gave him hell. They had tried massage for it and given it up, and there was nothingfor him but to endure till nature and his tough constitution deadenedthe tortured nerves again. I shifted my bed out of the pantry and sleptin the room with him, and when I woke in the night, as one does thefirst time in a strange place, I could tell by his breathing that hewas wakeful and suffering. 

Next day a bath chair containing a grizzled cripple and pushed by alimping peasant might have been seen descending the long hill to thevillage. It was clear frosty weather which makes the cheeks tingle, andI felt so full of beans that it was hard to remember my game leg. Thevalley was shut in on the east by a great mass of rocks and glaciers, belonging to a mountain whose top could not be seen. But on the south, above the snowy fir-woods, there was a most delicate lace-like peakwith a point like a needle. I looked at it with interest, for beyond itlay the valley which led to the Staub pass, and beyond that wasItaly--and Mary. 

The old village of St Anton had one long, narrow street which bent atright angles to a bridge which spanned the river flowing from the lake. Thence the road climbed steeply, but at the other end of the street itran on the level by the water's edge, lined with gimcrackboarding-houses, now shuttered to the world, and a few villas inpatches of garden. At the far end, just before it plunged into apine-wood, a promontory jutted into the lake, leaving a broad spacebetween the road and the water. Here were the grounds of a moreconsiderable dwelling--snow-covered laurels and rhododendrons with oneor two bigger trees--and just on the water-edge stood the house itself, called the Pink Chalet. 

I wheeled Peter past the entrance on the crackling snow of the highway. Seen through the gaps of the trees the front looked new, but the backpart seemed to be of some age, for I could see high walls, broken byfew windows, hanging over the water. The place was no more a chaletthan a donjon, but I suppose the name was given in honour of a woodengallery above the front door. The whole thing was washed in an uglypink. There were outhouses--garage or stables among the trees--and atthe entrance there were fairly recent tracks of an automobile. 

On our way back we had some very bad beer in a cafe and made friendswith the woman who kept it. Peter had to tell her his story, and Itrotted out my aunt in Zurich, and in the end we heard her grievances. She was a true Swiss, angry at all the belligerents who had spoiled herlivelihood, hating Germany most but also fearing her most. Coffee, tea, fuel, bread, even milk and cheese were hard to get and cost a ransom. It would take the land years to recover, and there would be no moretourists, for there was little money left in the world. I dropped aquestion about the Pink Chalet, and was told that it belonged to oneSchweigler, a professor of Berne, an old man who came sometimes for afew days in the summer. It was often let, but not now. Asked if it wasoccupied, she remarked that some friends of the Schweiglers--richpeople from Basle--had been there for the winter. 'They come and go ingreat cars, ' she said bitterly, 'and they bring their food from thecities. They spend no money in this poor place. '

 * * * * *

Presently Peter and I fell into a routine of life, as if we had alwayskept house together. In the morning he went abroad in his chair, in theafternoon I would hobble about on my own errands. We sank into thebackground and took its colour, and a less conspicuous pair never facedthe eye of suspicion. Once a week a young Swiss officer, whose businessit was to look after British wounded, paid us a hurried visit. I usedto get letters from my aunt in Zurich, Sometimes with the postmark ofArosa, and now and then these letters would contain curiously wordedadvice or instructions from him whom my aunt called 'the kind patron'. Generally I was told to be patient. Sometimes I had word about thehealth of 'my little cousin across the mountains'. Once I was biddenexpect a friend of the patron's, the wise doctor of whom he had oftenspoken, but though after that I shadowed the Pink Chalet for two daysno doctor appeared. 

My investigations were a barren business. I used to go down to thevillage in the afternoon and sit in an out-of-the-way cafe, talkingslow German with peasants and hotel porters, but there was little tolearn. I knew all there was to hear about the Pink Chalet, and that wasnothing. A young man who ski-ed stayed for three nights and spent hisdays on the alps above the fir-woods. A party of four, including twowomen, was reported to have been there for a night--all ramificationsof the rich family of Basle. I studied the house from the lake, whichshould have been nicely swept into ice-rinks, but from lack of visitorswas a heap of blown snow. The high old walls of the back part werebuilt straight from the water's edge. I remember I tried a short cutthrough the grounds to the high-road and was given 'Good afternoon' bya smiling German manservant. One way and another I gathered there werea good many serving-men about the place--too many for the infrequentguests. But beyond this I discovered nothing. 

Not that I was bored, for I had always Peter to turn to. He wasthinking a lot about South Africa, and the thing he liked best was togo over with me every detail of our old expeditions. They belonged to alife which he could think about without pain, whereas the war was toonear and bitter for him. He liked to hobble out-of-doors after thedarkness came and look at his old friends, the stars. He called them bythe words they use on the veld, and the first star of morning he calledthe _voorlooper_--the little boy who inspans the oxen--a name I had notheard for twenty years. Many a great yarn we spun in the long evenings, but I always went to bed with a sore heart. The longing in his eyes wastoo urgent, longing not for old days or far countries, but for thehealth and strength which had once been his pride. 

One night I told him about Mary. 

'She will be a happy _mysie_, ' he said, 'but you will need to be veryclever with her, for women are queer cattle and you and I don't knowtheir ways. They tell me English women do not cook and make clotheslike our vrouws, so what will she find to do? I doubt an idle womanwill be like a mealie-fed horse. '

It was no good explaining to him the kind of girl Mary was, for thatwas a world entirely beyond his ken. But I could see that he feltlonelier than ever at my news. So I told him of the house I meant tohave in England when the war was over--an old house in a green hillycountry, with fields that would carry four head of cattle to the Morganand furrows of clear water, and orchards of plums and apples. 'And youwill stay with us all the time, ' I said. 'You will have your own roomsand your own boy to look after you, and you will help me to farm, andwe will catch fish together, and shoot the wild ducks when they come upfrom the pans in the evening. I have found a better countryside thanthe Houtbosch, where you and I planned to have a farm. It is a blessedand happy place, England. '

He shook his head. 'You are a kind man, Dick, but your pretty _mysie_won't want an ugly old fellow like me hobbling about her house ... I donot think I will go back to Africa, for I should be sad there in thesun. I will find a little place in England, and some day I will visityou, old friend. '

That night his stoicism seemed for the first time to fail him. He wassilent for a long time and went early to bed, where I can vouch for ithe did not sleep. But he must have thought a lot in the night time, forin the morning he had got himself in hand and was as cheerful as asandboy. 

I watched his philosophy with amazement. It was far beyond anything Icould have compassed myself. He was so frail and so poor, for he hadnever had anything in the world but his bodily fitness, and he had lostthat now. And remember, he had lost it after some months of glitteringhappiness, for in the air he had found the element for which he hadbeen born. Sometimes he dropped a hint of those days when he lived inthe clouds and invented a new kind of battle, and his voice always grewhoarse. I could see that he ached with longing for their return. Andyet he never had a word of complaint. That was the ritual he had sethimself, his point of honour, and he faced the future with the samekind of courage as that with which he had tackled a wild beast orLensch himself. Only it needed a far bigger brand of fortitude. 

Another thing was that he had found religion. I doubt if that is theright way to put it, for he had always had it. Men who live in thewilds know they are in the hands of God. But his old kind had been atattered thing, more like heathen superstition, though it had alwayskept him humble. But now he had taken to reading the Bible and tothinking in his lonely nights, and he had got a creed of his own. Idare say it was crude enough, I am sure it was unorthodox; but if theproof of religion is that it gives a man a prop in bad days, thenPeter's was the real thing. He used to ferret about in the Bible andthe _Pilgrim's Progress_--they were both equally inspired in hiseyes--and find texts which he interpreted in his own way to meet hiscase. He took everything quite literally. What happened three thousandyears ago in Palestine might, for all he minded, have been going onnext door. I used to chaff him and tell him that he was like theKaiser, very good at fitting the Bible to his purpose, but hissincerity was so complete that he only smiled. I remember one night, when he had been thinking about his flying days, he found a passage inThessalonians about the dead rising to meet their Lord in the air, andthat cheered him a lot. Peter, I could see, had the notion that histime here wouldn't be very long, and he liked to think that when he gothis release he would find once more the old rapture. 

Once, when I said something about his patience, he said he had got totry to live up to Mr Standfast. He had fixed on that character tofollow, though he would have preferred Mr Valiant-for-Truth if he hadthought himself good enough. He used to talk about Mr Standfast in hisqueer way as if he were a friend of us both, like Blenkiron ... I tellyou I was humbled out of all my pride by the sight of Peter, souncomplaining and gentle and wise. The Almighty Himself couldn't havemade a prig out of him, and he never would have thought of preaching. Only once did he give me advice. I had always a liking for short cuts, and I was getting a bit restive under the long inaction. One day when Iexpressed my feelings on the matter, Peter upped and read from the_Pilgrim's Progress_: 'Some also have wished that the next way to theirFather's house were here, that they might be troubled no more witheither hills or mountains to go over, but the Way is the Way, and thereis an end. '

All the same when we got into March and nothing happened I grew prettyanxious. Blenkiron had said we were fighting against time, and herewere the weeks slipping away. His letters came occasionally, always inthe shape of communications from my aunt. One told me that I would soonbe out of a job, for Peter's repatriation was just about through, andhe might get his movement order any day. Another spoke of my littlecousin over the hills, and said that she hoped soon to be going to aplace called Santa Chiara in the Val Saluzzana. I got out the map in ahurry and measured the distance from there to St Anton and pored overthe two roads thither--the short one by the Staub Pass and the long oneby the Marjolana. These letters made me think that things were nearinga climax, but still no instructions came. I had nothing to report in myown messages, I had discovered nothing in the Pink Chalet but idleservants, I was not even sure if the Pink Chalet were not a harmlessvilla, and I hadn't come within a thousand miles of finding Chelius. All my desire to imitate Peter's stoicism didn't prevent me fromgetting occasionally rattled and despondent. 

The one thing I could do was to keep fit, for I had a notion I mightsoon want all my bodily strength. I had to keep up my pretence oflameness in the daytime, so I used to take my exercise at night. Iwould sleep in the afternoon, when Peter had his siesta, and then aboutten in the evening, after putting him to bed, I would slip out-of-doorsand go for a four or five hours' tramp. Wonderful were those midnightwanderings. I pushed up through the snow-laden pines to the ridgeswhere the snow lay in great wreaths and scallops, till I stood on acrest with a frozen world at my feet and above me a host of glitteringstars. Once on a night of full moon I reached the glacier at the valleyhead, scrambled up the moraine to where the ice began, and peeredfearfully into the spectral crevasses. At such hours I had the earth tomyself, for there was not a sound except the slipping of a burden ofsnow from the trees or the crack and rustle which reminded me that aglacier was a moving river. The war seemed very far away, and I feltthe littleness of our human struggles, till I thought of Peter turningfrom side to side to find ease in the cottage far below me. Then Irealized that the spirit of man was the greatest thing in this spaciousworld ... I would get back about three or four, have a bath in thewater which had been warming in my absence, and creep into bed, almostashamed of having two sound legs, when a better man a yard away had butone. 

Oddly enough at these hours there seemed more life in the Pink Chaletthan by day. Once, tramping across the lake long after midnight, I sawlights in the lake-front in windows which for ordinary were blank andshuttered. Several times I cut across the grounds, when the moon wasdark. On one such occasion a great car with no lights swept up thedrive, and I heard low voices at the door. Another time a man ranhastily past me, and entered the house by a little door on the easternside, which I had not before noticed ... Slowly the conviction began togrow on me that we were not wrong in marking down this place, thatthings went on within it which it deeply concerned us to discover. ButI was puzzled to think of a way. I might butt inside, but for all Iknew it would be upsetting Blenkiron's plans, for he had given me noinstructions about housebreaking. All this unsettled me worse thanever. I began to lie awake planning some means of entrance ... I wouldbe a peasant from the next valley who had twisted his ankle ... I wouldgo seeking an imaginary cousin among the servants ... I would start afire in the place and have the doors flung open to zealous neighbours... 

And then suddenly I got instructions in a letter from Blenkiron. 

It came inside a parcel of warm socks that arrived from my kind aunt. But the letter for me was not from her. It was in Blenkiron's largesprawling hand and the style of it was all his own. He told me that hehad about finished his job. He had got his line on Chelius, who was thebird he expected, and that bird would soon wing its way southwardacross the mountains for the reason I knew of. 

'We've got an almighty move on, ' he wrote, 'and please God you're goingto hustle some in the next week. It's going better than I ever hoped. 'But something was still to be done. He had struck a countryman, oneClarence Donne, a journalist of Kansas City, whom he had taken into thebusiness. Him he described as a 'crackerjack' and commended to myesteem. He was coming to St Anton, for there was a game afoot at thePink Chalet, which he would give me news of. I was to meet him nextevening at nine-fifteen at the little door in the east end of thehouse. 'For the love of Mike, Dick, ' he concluded, 'be on time and doeverything Clarence tells you as if he was me. It's a mighty complexaffair, but you and he have sand enough to pull through. Don't worryabout your little cousin. She's safe and out of the job now. '

My first feeling was one of immense relief, especially at the lastwords. I read the letter a dozen times to make sure I had its meaning. A flash of suspicion crossed my mind that it might be a fake, principally because there was no mention of Peter, who had figuredlarge in the other missives. But why should Peter be mentioned when hewasn't on in this piece? The signature convinced me. OrdinarilyBlenkiron signed himself in full with a fine commercial flourish. Butwhen I was at the Front he had got into the habit of making a kind ofhieroglyphic of his surname to me and sticking J. S. After it in abracket. That was how this letter was signed, and it was sure proof itwas all right. 

I spent that day and the next in wild spirits. Peter spotted what wason, though I did not tell him for fear of making him envious. I had tobe extra kind to him, for I could see that he ached to have a hand inthe business. Indeed he asked shyly if I couldn't fit him in, and I hadto lie about it and say it was only another of my aimlesscircumnavigations of the Pink Chalet. 

'Try and find something where I can help, ' he pleaded. 'I'm prettystrong still, though I'm lame, and I can shoot a bit. '

I declared that he would be used in time, that Blenkiron had promisedhe would be used, but for the life of me I couldn't see how. 

At nine o'clock on the evening appointed I was on the lake opposite thehouse, close in under the shore, making my way to the rendezvous. Itwas a coal-black night, for though the air was clear the stars wereshining with little light, and the moon had not yet risen. With apremonition that I might be long away from food, I had brought someslabs of chocolate, and my pistol and torch were in my pocket. It wasbitter cold, but I had ceased to mind weather, and I wore my one suitand no overcoat. 

The house was like a tomb for silence. There was no crack of lightanywhere, and none of those smells of smoke and food which proclaimhabitation. It was an eerie job scrambling up the steep bank east ofthe place, to where the flat of the garden started, in a darkness sogreat that I had to grope my way like a blind man. 

I found the little door by feeling along the edge of the building. ThenI stepped into an adjacent clump of laurels to wait on my companion. Hewas there before me. 

'Say, ' I heard a rich Middle West voice whisper, 'are you JosephZimmer? I'm not shouting any names, but I guess you are the guy I wastold to meet here. '

'Mr Donne?' I whispered back. 

'The same, 'he replied. 'Shake. '

I gripped a gloved and mittened hand which drew me towards the door. 

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

I Lie on a Hard Bed

The journalist from Kansas City was a man of action. He wasted no wordsin introducing himself or unfolding his plan of campaign. 'You've gotto follow me, mister, and not deviate one inch from my tracks. Theexplaining part will come later. There's big business in this shacktonight. ' He unlocked the little door with scarcely a sound, slid thecrust of snow from his boots, and preceded me into a passage as blackas a cellar. The door swung smoothly behind us, and after the sharpout-of-doors the air smelt stuffy as the inside of a safe. 

A hand reached back to make sure that I followed. We appeared to be ina flagged passage under the main level of the house. My hobnailed bootsslipped on the floor, and I steadied myself on the wall, which seemedto be of undressed stone. Mr Donne moved softly and assuredly, for hewas better shod for the job than me, and his guiding hand came backconstantly to make sure of my whereabouts. 

I remember that I felt just as I had felt when on that August night Ihad explored the crevice of the Coolin--the same sense that somethingqueer was going to happen, the same recklessness and contentment. Moving a foot at a time with immense care, we came to a right-handturning. Two shallow steps led us to another passage, and then mygroping hands struck a blind wall. The American was beside me, and hismouth was close to my ear. 

'Got to crawl now, ' he whispered. 'You lead, mister, while I shed thiscoat of mine. Eight feet on your stomach and then upright. '

I wriggled through a low tunnel, broad enough to take three menabreast, but not two feet high. Half-way through I felt suffocated, forI never liked holes, and I had a momentary anxiety as to what we wereafter in this cellar pilgrimage. Presently I smelt free air and got onto my knees. 

'Right, mister?' came a whisper from behind. My companion seemed to bewaiting till I was through before he followed. 

'Right, ' I answered, and very carefully rose to my feet. 

Then something happened behind me. There was a jar and a bump as if theroof of the tunnel had subsided. I turned sharply and groped at themouth. I stuck my leg down and found a block. 

'Donne, ' I said, as loud as I dared, 'are you hurt? Where are you?'

But no answer came. 

Even then I thought only of an accident. Something had miscarried, andI was cut off in the cellars of an unfriendly house away from the manwho knew the road and had a plan in his head. I was not so muchfrightened as exasperated. I turned from the tunnel-mouth and gropedinto the darkness before me. I might as well prospect the kind ofprison into which I had blundered. 

I took three steps--no more. My feet seemed suddenly to go from me andfly upward. So sudden was it that I fell heavy and dead like a log, andmy head struck the floor with a crash that for a moment knocked mesenseless. I was conscious of something falling on me and of anintolerable pressure on my chest. I struggled for breath, and found myarms and legs pinned and my whole body in a kind of wooden vice. I wassick with concussion, and could do nothing but gasp and choke down mynausea. The cut in the back of my head was bleeding freely and thathelped to clear my wits, but I lay for a minute or two incapable ofthought. I shut my eyes tight, as a man does when he is fighting with aswoon. 

When I opened them there was light. It came from the left side of theroom, the broad glare of a strong electric torch. I watched itstupidly, but it gave me the fillip needed to pick up the threads. Iremembered the tunnel now and the Kansas journalist. Then behind thelight I saw a face which pulled my flickering senses out of the mire. 

I saw the heavy ulster and the cap, which I had realized, though I hadnot seen, outside in the dark laurels. They belonged to the journalist, Clarence Donne, the trusted emissary of Blenkiron. But I saw his facenow, and it was that face which I had boasted to Bullivant I couldnever mistake again upon earth. I did not mistake it now, and Iremember I had a faint satisfaction that I had made good my word. I hadnot mistaken it, for I had not had the chance to look at it till thismoment. I saw with acid clearness the common denominator of all itsdisguises--the young man who lisped in the seaside villa, the stoutphilanthropist of Biggleswick, the pulpy panic-stricken creature of theTube station, the trim French staff officer of the Picardy chateau ... I saw more, for I saw it beyond the need of disguise. I was looking atvon Schwabing, the exile, who had done more for Germany than any armycommander ... Mary's words came back to me--'the most dangerous man inthe world' ... I was not afraid, or broken-hearted at failure, orangry--not yet, for I was too dazed and awestruck. I looked at him asone might look at some cataclysm of nature which had destroyed acontinent. 

The face was smiling. 

'I am happy to offer you hospitality at last, ' it said. 

I pulled my wits farther out of the mud to attend to him. The cross-baron my chest pressed less hard and I breathed better. But when I triedto speak, the words would not come. 

'We are old friends, ' he went on. 'We have known each other quiteintimately for four years, which is a long time in war. I have beeninterested in you, for you have a kind of crude intelligence, and youhave compelled me to take you seriously. If you were cleverer you wouldappreciate the compliment. But you were fool enough to think you couldbeat me, and for that you must be punished. Oh no, don't flatteryourself you were ever dangerous. You were only troublesome andpresumptuous like a mosquito one flicks off one's sleeve. '

He was leaning against the side of a heavy closed door. He lit a cigarfrom a little gold tinder box and regarded me with amused eyes. 

'You will have time for reflection, so I propose to enlighten you alittle. You are an observer of little things. So? Did you ever see acat with a mouse? The mouse runs about and hides and manoeuvres andthinks it is playing its own game. But at any moment the cat canstretch out its paw and put an end to it. You are the mouse, my poorGeneral--for I believe you are one of those funny amateurs that theEnglish call Generals. At any moment during the last nine months Icould have put an end to you with a nod. '

My nausea had stopped and I could understand what he said, though I hadstill no power to reply. 

'Let me explain, ' he went on. 'I watched with amusement your gambols atBiggleswick. My eyes followed you when you went to the Clyde and inyour stupid twistings in Scotland. I gave you rope, because you werefutile, and I had graver things to attend to. I allowed you to amuseyourself at your British Front with childish investigations and to playthe fool in Paris. I have followed every step of your course inSwitzerland, and I have helped your idiotic Yankee friend to plotagainst myself. While you thought you were drawing your net around me, I was drawing mine around you. I assure you, it has been a charmingrelaxation from serious business. '

I knew the man was lying. Some part was true, for he had clearly fooledBlenkiron; but I remembered the hurried flight from Biggleswick andEaucourt Sainte-Anne when the game was certainly against him. He had meat his mercy, and was wreaking his vanity on me. That made him smallerin my eyes, and my first awe began to pass. 

'I never cherish rancour, you know, ' he said. 'In my business it issilly to be angry, for it wastes energy. But I do not tolerateinsolence, my dear General. And my country has the habit of doingjustice on her enemies. It may interest you to know that the end is notfar off. Germany has faced a jealous world in arms and she is about tobe justified of her great courage. She has broken up bit by bit theclumsy organization of her opponents. Where is Russia today, thesteam-roller that was to crush us? Where is the poor dupe Rumania?Where is the strength of Italy, who was once to do wonders for what shecalled Liberty? Broken, all of them. I have played my part in that workand now the need is past. My country with free hands is about to turnupon your armed rabble in the West and drive it into the Atlantic. Thenwe shall deal with the ragged remains of France and the handful ofnoisy Americans. By midsummer there will be peace dictated bytriumphant Germany. '

'By God, there won't!' I had found my voice at last. 

'By God, there will, ' he said pleasantly. 'It is what you call amathematical certainty. You will no doubt die bravely, like the savagetribes that your Empire used to conquer. But we have the greaterdiscipline and the stronger spirit and the bigger brain. Stupidity isalways punished in the end, and you are a stupid race. Do not thinkthat your kinsmen across the Atlantic will save you. They are acommercial people and by no means sure of themselves. When they haveblustered a little they will see reason and find some means of savingtheir faces. Their comic President will make a speech or two and writeus a solemn note, and we will reply with the serious rhetoric which heloves, and then we shall kiss and be friends. You know in your heartthat it will be so. '

A great apathy seemed to settle on me. This bragging did not make meangry, and I had no longer any wish to contradict him. It may have beenthe result of the fall, but my mind had stopped working. I heard hisvoice as one listens casually to the ticking of a clock. 

'I will tell you more, ' he was saying. 'This is the evening of the 18thday of March. Your generals in France expect an attack, but they arenot sure where it will come. Some think it may be in Champagne or onthe Aisne, some at Ypres, some at St Quentin. Well, my dear General, you alone will I take into our confidence. On the morning of the 21st, three days from now, we attack the right wing of the British Army. Intwo days we shall be in Amiens. On the third we shall have driven awedge as far as the sea. Then in a week or so we shall have rolled upyour army from the right, and presently we shall be in Boulogne andCalais. After that Paris falls, and then Peace. '

I made no answer. The word 'Amiens' recalled Mary, and I was trying toremember the day in January when she and I had motored south from thatpleasant city. 

'Why do I tell you these things? Your intelligence, for you are notaltogether foolish, will have supplied the answer. It is because yourlife is over. As your Shakespeare says, the rest is silence ... No, Iam not going to kill you. That would be crude, and I hate crudities. Iam going now on a little journey, and when I return in twenty-fourhours' time you will be my companion. You are going to visit Germany, my dear General. '

That woke me to attention, and he noticed it, for he went on with gusto. 

'You have heard of the _Untergrundbahn_? No? And you boast of anIntelligence service! Yet your ignorance is shared by the whole of yourGeneral Staff. It is a little organization of my own. By it we can takeunwilling and dangerous people inside our frontier to be dealt with aswe please. Some have gone from England and many from France. OfficiallyI believe they are recorded as "missing", but they did not go astray onany battle-field. They have been gathered from their homes or fromhotels or offices or even the busy streets. I will not conceal from youthat the service of our Underground Railway is a little irregular fromEngland and France. But from Switzerland it is smooth as a trunk line. There are unwatched spots on the frontier, and we have our agents amongthe frontier guards, and we have no difficulty about passes. It is apretty device, and you will soon be privileged to observe its working... In Germany I cannot promise you comfort, but I do not think yourlife will be dull. '

As he spoke these words, his urbane smile changed to a grin of impishmalevolence. Even through my torpor I felt the venom and I shivered. 

'When I return I shall have another companion. ' His voice was honeyedagain. 'There is a certain pretty lady who was to be the bait to enticeme into Italy. It was so? Well, I have fallen to the bait. I havearranged that she shall meet me this very night at a mountain inn onthe Italian side. I have arranged, too, that she shall be alone. She isan innocent child, and I do not think that she has been more than atool in the clumsy hands of your friends. She will come with me when Iask her, and we shall be a merry party in the Underground Express. '

My apathy vanished, and every nerve in me was alive at the words. 

'You cur!' I cried. 'She loathes the sight of you. She wouldn't touchyou with the end of a barge-pole. '

He flicked the ash from his cigar. 'I think you are mistaken. I am verypersuasive, and I do not like to use compulsion with a woman. But, willing or not, she will come with me. I have worked hard and I amentitled to my pleasure, and I have set my heart on that little lady. '

There was something in his tone, gross, leering, assured, halfcontemptuous, that made my blood boil. He had fairly got me on the raw, and the hammer beat violently in my forehead. I could have wept withsheer rage, and it took all my fortitude to keep my mouth shut. But Iwas determined not to add to his triumph. 

He looked at his watch. 'Time passes, ' he said. 'I must depart to mycharming assignation. I will give your remembrances to the lady. Forgive me for making no arrangements for your comfort till I return. Your constitution is so sound that it will not suffer from a day'sfasting. To set your mind at rest I may tell you that escape isimpossible. This mechanism has been proved too often, and if you didbreak loose from it my servants would deal with you. But I must speak aword of caution. If you tamper with it or struggle too much it will actin a curious way. The floor beneath you covers a shaft which runs tothe lake below. Set a certain spring at work and you may find yourselfshot down into the water far below the ice, where your body will rottill the spring ... That, of course, is an alternative open to you, ifyou do not care to wait for my return. '

He lit a fresh cigar, waved his hand, and vanished through the doorway. As it shut behind him, the sound of his footsteps instantly died away. The walls must have been as thick as a prison's. 

 * * * * *

I suppose I was what people in books call 'stunned'. The illuminationduring the past few minutes had been so dazzling that my brain couldnot master it. I remember very clearly that I did not think about theghastly failure of our scheme, or the German plans which had beeninsolently unfolded to me as to one dead to the world. I saw a singlepicture--an inn in a snowy valley (I saw it as a small place likePeter's cottage), a solitary girl, that smiling devil who had left me, and then the unknown terror of the Underground Railway. I think mycourage went for a bit, and I cried with feebleness and rage. Thehammer in my forehead had stopped for it only beat when I was angry inaction. Now that I lay trapped, the manhood had slipped out of myjoints, and if Ivery had still been in the doorway, I think I wouldhave whined for mercy. I would have offered him all the knowledge I hadin the world if he had promised to leave Mary alone. 

Happily he wasn't there, and there was no witness of my cowardice. Happily, too, it is just as difficult to be a coward for long as to bea hero. It was Blenkiron's phrase about Mary that pulled metogether--'She can't scare and she can't soil'. No, by heavens, shecouldn't. I could trust my lady far better than I could trust myself. Iwas still sick with anxiety, but I was getting a pull on myself. I wasdone in, but Ivery would get no triumph out of me. Either I would gounder the ice, or I would find a chance of putting a bullet through myhead before I crossed the frontier. If I could do nothing else I couldperish decently ... And then I laughed, and I knew I was past theworst. What made me laugh was the thought of Peter. I had been pityinghim an hour ago for having only one leg, but now he was abroad in theliving, breathing world with years before him, and I lay in the depths, limbless and lifeless, with my number up. 

I began to muse on the cold water under the ice where I could go if Iwanted. I did not think that I would take that road, for a man'schances are not gone till he is stone dead, but I was glad the wayexisted ... And then I looked at the wall in front of me, and, very farup, I saw a small square window. 

The stars had been clouded when I entered that accursed house, but themist must have cleared. I saw my old friend Orion, the hunter's star, looking through the bars. And that suddenly made me think. 

Peter and I had watched them by night, and I knew the place of all thechief constellations in relation to the St Anton valley. I believedthat I was in a room on the lake side of the Pink Chalet: I must be, ifIvery had spoken the truth. But if so, I could not conceivably seeOrion from its window ... There was no other possible conclusion, Imust be in a room on the east side of the house, and Ivery had beenlying. He had already lied in his boasting of how he had outwitted mein England and at the Front. He might be lying about Mary ... No, Idismissed that hope. Those words of his had rung true enough. 

I thought for a minute and concluded that he had lied to terrorize meand keep me quiet; therefore this infernal contraption had probably itsweak point. I reflected, too, that I was pretty strong, far strongerprobably than Ivery imagined, for he had never seen me stripped. Sincethe place was pitch dark I could not guess how the thing worked, but Icould feel the cross-bars rigid on my chest and legs and the side-barswhich pinned my arms to my sides ... I drew a long breath and tried toforce my elbows apart. Nothing moved, nor could I raise the bars on mylegs the smallest fraction. 

Again I tried, and again. The side-bar on my right seemed to be lessrigid than the others. I managed to get my right hand raised above thelevel of my thigh, and then with a struggle I got a grip with it on thecross-bar, which gave me a small leverage. With a mighty effort I drovemy right elbow and shoulder against the side-bar. It seemed to giveslightly ... I summoned all my strength and tried again. There was acrack and then a splintering, the massive bar shuffled limply back, andmy right arm was free to move laterally, though the cross-bar preventedme from raising it. 

With some difficulty I got at my coat pocket where reposed my electrictorch and my pistol. With immense labour and no little pain I pulledthe former out and switched it on by drawing the catch against thecross-bar. Then I saw my prison house. 

It was a little square chamber, very high, with on my left the massivedoor by which Ivery had departed. The dark baulks of my rack wereplain, and I could roughly make out how the thing had been managed. Some spring had tilted up the flooring, and dropped the framework fromits place in the right-hand wall. It was clamped, I observed, by anarrangement in the floor just in front of the door. If I could get ridof that catch it would be easy to free myself, for to a man of mystrength the weight would not be impossibly heavy. 

My fortitude had come back to me, and I was living only in the moment, choking down any hope of escape. My first job was to destroy the catchthat clamped down the rack, and for that my only weapon was my pistol. I managed to get the little electric torch jammed in the corner of thecross-bar, where it lit up the floor towards the door. Then it washell's own business extricating the pistol from my pocket. Wrist andfingers were always cramping, and I was in terror that I might drop itwhere I could not retrieve it. 

I forced myself to think out calmly the question of the clamp, for apistol bullet is a small thing, and I could not afford to miss. Ireasoned it out from my knowledge of mechanics, and came to theconclusion that the centre of gravity was a certain bright spot ofmetal which I could just see under the cross-bars. It was bright and somust have been recently repaired, and that was another reason forthinking it important. The question was how to hit it, for I could notget the pistol in line with my eye. Let anyone try that kind ofshooting, with a bent arm over a bar, when you are lying flat andlooking at the mark from under the bar, and he will understand itsdifficulties. I had six shots in my revolver, and I must fire two orthree ranging shots in any case. I must not exhaust all my cartridges, for I must have a bullet left for any servant who came to pry, and Iwanted one in reserve for myself. But I did not think shots would beheard outside the room; the walls were too thick. 

I held my wrist rigid above the cross-bar and fired. The bullet was aninch to the right of the piece of bright steel. Moving a fraction Ifired again. I had grazed it on the left. With aching eyes glued on themark, I tried a third time. I saw something leap apart, and suddenlythe whole framework under which I lay fell loose and mobile ... I wasvery cool and restored the pistol to my pocket and took the torch in myhand before I moved ... Fortune had been kind, for I was free. I turnedon my face, humped my back, and without much trouble crawled out fromunder the contraption. 

I did not allow myself to think of ultimate escape, for that would onlyflurry me, and one step at a time was enough. I remember that I dustedmy clothes, and found that the cut in the back of my head had stoppedbleeding. I retrieved my hat, which had rolled into a corner when Ifell ... Then I turned my attention to the next step. 

The tunnel was impossible, and the only way was the door. If I hadstopped to think I would have known that the chances against gettingout of such a house were a thousand to one. The pistol shots had beenmuffled by the cavernous walls, but the place, as I knew, was full ofservants and, even if I passed the immediate door, I would be collaredin some passage. But I had myself so well in hand that I tackled thedoor as if I had been prospecting to sink a new shaft in Rhodesia. 

It had no handle nor, so far as I could see, a keyhole ... But Inoticed, as I turned my torch on the ground, that from the clamp whichI had shattered a brass rod sunk in the floor led to one of thedoor-posts. Obviously the thing worked by a spring and was connectedwith the mechanism of the rack. 

A wild thought entered my mind and brought me to my feet. I pushed thedoor and it swung slowly open. The bullet which freed me had releasedthe spring which controlled it. 

Then for the first time, against all my maxims of discretion, I beganto hope. I took off my hat and felt my forehead burning, so that Irested it for a moment on the cool wall ... Perhaps my luck still held. With a rush came thoughts of Mary and Blenkiron and Peter andeverything we had laboured for, and I was mad to win. 

I had no notion of the interior of the house or where lay the main doorto the outer world. My torch showed me a long passage with somethinglike a door at the far end, but I clicked it off, for I did not dare touse it now. The place was deadly quiet. As I listened I seemed to heara door open far away, and then silence fell again. 

I groped my way down the passage till I had my hands on the far door. Ihoped it might open on the hall, where I could escape by a window or abalcony, for I judged the outer door would be locked. I listened, andthere came no sound from within. It was no use lingering, so verystealthily I turned the handle and opened it a crack. 

It creaked and I waited with beating heart on discovery, for inside Isaw the glow of light. But there was no movement, so it must be empty. I poked my head in and then followed with my body. 

It was a large room, with logs burning in a stove, and the floor thickwith rugs. It was lined with books, and on a table in the centre areading-lamp was burning. Several dispatch-boxes stood on the table, and there was a little pile of papers. A man had been here a minutebefore, for a half-smoked cigar was burning on the edge of the inkstand. 

At that moment I recovered complete use of my wits and all myself-possession. More, there returned to me some of the olddevil-may-careness which before had served me well. Ivery had gone, butthis was his sanctum. Just as on the roofs of Erzerum I had burned toget at Stumm's papers, so now it was borne in on me that at all costs Imust look at that pile. 

I advanced to the table and picked up the topmost paper. It was alittle typewritten blue slip with the lettering in italics, and in acorner a curious, involved stamp in red ink. On it I read:

'_Die Wildvogel missen beimkehren. _'

At the same moment I heard steps and the door opened on the far side, Istepped back towards the stove, and fingered the pistol in my pocket. 

A man entered, a man with a scholar's stoop, an unkempt beard, andlarge sleepy dark eyes. At the sight of me he pulled up and his wholebody grew taut. It was the Portuguese Jew, whose back I had last seenat the smithy door in Skye, and who by the mercy of God had never seenmy face. 

I stopped fingering my pistol, for I had an inspiration. Before hecould utter a word I got in first. 

'_Die Vogelein schwei igem im Walde, _' I said. 

His face broke into a pleasant smile, and he replied:

'_Warte nur, balde rubest du auch. _'

'Ach, ' he said in German, holding out his hand, 'you have come thisway, when we thought you would go by Modane. I welcome you, for I knowyour exploits. You are Conradi, who did so nobly in Italy?'

I bowed. 'Yes, I am Conradi, ' I said. 

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The Col of the Swallows

He pointed to the slip on the table. 

'You have seen the orders?'

I nodded. 

'The long day's work is over. You must rejoice, for your part has beenthe hardest, I think. Some day you will tell me about it?'

The man's face was honest and kindly, rather like that of the engineerGaudian, whom two years before I had met in Germany. But his eyesfascinated me, for they were the eyes of the dreamer and fanatic, whowould not desist from his quest while life lasted. I thought that Iveryhad chosen well in his colleague. 

'My task is not done yet, ' I said. 'I came here to see Chelius. '

'He will be back tomorrow evening. '

'Too late. I must see him at once. He has gone to Italy, and I mustovertake him. '

'You know your duty best, ' he said gravely. 

'But you must help me. I must catch him at Santa Chiara, for it is abusiness of life and death. Is there a car to be had?'

'There is mine. But there is no chauffeur. Chelius took him. '

'I can drive myself and I know the road. But I have no pass to crossthe frontier. '

'That is easily supplied, ' he said, smiling. 

In one bookcase there was a shelf of dummy books. He unlocked this andrevealed a small cupboard, whence he took a tin dispatch-box. From somepapers he selected one, which seemed to be already signed. 

'Name?' he asked. 

'Call me Hans Gruber of Brieg, ' I said. 'I travel to pick up my master, who is in the timber trade. '

'And your return?'

'I will come back by my old road, ' I said mysteriously; and if he knewwhat I meant it was more than I did myself. 

He completed the paper and handed it to me. 'This will take you throughthe frontier posts. And now for the car. The servants will be in bed, for they have been preparing for a long journey, but I will myself showit you. There is enough petrol on board to take you to Rome. '

He led me through the hall, unlocked the front door, and we crossed thesnowy lawn to the garage. The place was empty but for a great car, which bore the marks of having come from the muddy lowlands. To my joyI saw that it was a Daimler, a type with which I was familiar. I litthe lamps, started the engine, and ran it out on to the road. 

'You will want an overcoat, ' he said. 

'I never wear them. '

'Food?'

'I have some chocolate. I will breakfast at Santa Chiara. '

'Well, God go with you!'

A minute later I was tearing along the lake-side towards St Antonvillage. 

 * * * * *

I stopped at the cottage on the hill. Peter was not yet in bed. I foundhim sitting by the fire, trying to read, but I saw by his face that hehad been waiting anxiously on my coming. 

'We're in the soup, old man, ' I said as I shut the door. In a dozensentences I told him of the night's doings, of Ivery's plan and mydesperate errand. 

'You wanted a share, ' I cried. 'Well, everything depends on you now. I'm off after Ivery, and God knows what will happen. Meantime, you havegot to get on to Blenkiron, and tell him what I've told you. He mustget the news through to G. H. Q. Somehow. He must trap the Wild Birdsbefore they go. I don't know how, but he must. Tell him it's all up tohim and you, for I'm out of it. I must save Mary, and if God's willingI'll settle with Ivery. But the big job is for Blenkiron--and you. Somehow he has made a bad break, and the enemy has got ahead of him. Hemust sweat blood to make up. My God, Peter, it's the solemnest momentof our lives. I don't see any light, but we mustn't miss any chances. I'm leaving it all to you. '

I spoke like a man in a fever, for after what I had been through Iwasn't quite sane. My coolness in the Pink Chalet had given place to acrazy restlessness. I can see Peter yet, standing in the ring oflamplight, supporting himself by a chair back, wrinkling his brows and, as he always did in moments of excitement, scratching gently the tip ofhis left ear. His face was happy. 

'Never fear, Dick, ' he said. 'It will all come right. _Ons sal 'n planmaak. _'

And then, still possessed with a demon of disquiet, I was on the roadagain, heading for the pass that led to Italy. 

The mist had gone from the sky, and the stars were shining brightly. The moon, now at the end of its first quarter, was setting in a gap ofthe mountains, as I climbed the low col from the St Anton valley to thegreater Staubthal. There was frost and the hard snow crackled under mywheels, but there was also that feel in the air which preludes storm. Iwondered if I should run into snow in the high hills. The whole landwas deep in peace. There was not a light in the hamlets I passedthrough, not a soul on the highway. 

In the Staubthal I joined the main road and swung to the left up thenarrowing bed of the valley. The road was in noble condition, and thecar was running finely, as I mounted through forests of snowy Pines toa land where the mountains crept close together, and the highway coiledround the angles of great crags or skirted perilously some profoundgorge, with only a line of wooden posts to defend it from the void. Inplaces the snow stood in walls on either side, where the road was keptopen by man's labour. In other parts it lay thin, and in the dim lightone might have fancied that one was running through open meadowlands. 

Slowly my head was getting clearer, and I was able to look round myproblem. I banished from my mind the situation I had left behind me. Blenkiron must cope with that as best he could. It lay with him to dealwith the Wild Birds, my job was with Ivery alone. Sometime in the earlymorning he would reach Santa Chiara, and there he would find Mary. Beyond that my imagination could forecast nothing. She would bealone--I could trust his cleverness for that; he would try to force herto come with him, or he might persuade her with some lying story. Well, please God, I should come in for the tail end of the interview, and atthe thought I cursed the steep gradients I was climbing, and longed forsome magic to lift the Daimler beyond the summit and set it racing downthe slope towards Italy. 

I think it was about half-past three when I saw the lights of thefrontier post. The air seemed milder than in the valleys, and there wasa soft scurry of snow on my right cheek. A couple of sleepy Swisssentries with their rifles in their hands stumbled out as I drew up. 

They took my pass into the hut and gave me an anxious quarter of anhour while they examined it. The performance was repeated fifty yardson at the Italian post, where to my alarm the sentries were inclined toconversation. I played the part of the sulky servant, answering inmonosyllables and pretending to immense stupidity. 

'You are only just in time, friend, ' said one in German. 'The weathergrows bad and soon the pass will close. Ugh, it is as cold as lastwinter on the Tonale. You remember, Giuseppe?'

But in the end they let me move on. For a little I felt my waygingerly, for on the summit the road had many twists and the snow wasconfusing to the eyes. Presently came a sharp drop and I let theDaimler go. It grew colder, and I shivered a little; the snow became awet white fog around the glowing arc of the headlights; and always theroad fell, now in long curves, now in steep short dips, till I wasaware of a glen opening towards the south. From long living in thewilds I have a kind of sense for landscape without the testimony of theeyes, and I knew where the ravine narrowed or widened though it wasblack darkness. 

In spite of my restlessness I had to go slowly, for after the firstrush downhill I realized that, unless I was careful, I might wreck thecar and spoil everything. The surface of the road on the southern slopeof the mountains was a thousand per cent worse than that on the other. I skidded and side-slipped, and once grazed the edge of the gorge. Itwas far more maddening than the climb up, for then it had been astraight-forward grind with the Daimler doing its utmost, whereas now Ihad to hold her back because of my own lack of skill. I reckon thattime crawling down from the summit of the Staub as some of the weariesthours I ever spent. 

Quite suddenly I ran out of the ill weather into a different climate. The sky was clear above me, and I saw that dawn was very near. Thefirst pinewoods were beginning, and at last came a straight slope whereI could let the car out. I began to recover my spirits, which had beenvery dashed, and to reckon the distance I had still to travel ... Andthen, without warning, a new world sprang up around me. Out of the bluedusk white shapes rose like ghosts, peaks and needles and domes of ice, their bases fading mistily into shadow, but the tops kindling till theyglowed like jewels. I had never seen such a sight, and the wonder of itfor a moment drove anxiety from my heart. More, it gave me an earnestof victory. I was in clear air once more, and surely in this diamondether the foul things which loved the dark must be worsted ... 

And then I saw, a mile ahead, the little square red-roofed buildingwhich I knew to be the inn of Santa Chiara. 

It was here that misfortune met me. I had grown careless now, andlooked rather at the house than the road. At one point the hillside hadslipped down--it must have been recent, for the road was well kept--andI did not notice the landslide till I was on it. I slewed to the right, took too wide a curve, and before I knew the car was over the far edge. I slapped on the brakes, but to avoid turning turtle I had to leave theroad altogether. I slithered down a steep bank into a meadow, where formy sins I ran into a fallen tree trunk with a jar that shook me out ofmy seat and nearly broke my arm. Before I examined the car I knew whathad happened. The front axle was bent, and the off front wheel badlybuckled. 

I had not time to curse my stupidity. I clambered back to the road andset off running down it at my best speed. I was mortally stiff, forIvery's rack was not good for the joints, but I realized it only as adrag on my pace, not as an affliction in itself. My whole mind was seton the house before me and what might be happening there. 

There was a man at the door of the inn, who, when he caught sight of myfigure, began to move to meet me. I saw that it was Launcelot Wake, andthe sight gave me hope. 

But his face frightened me. It was drawn and haggard like one who neversleeps, and his eyes were hot coals. 

'Hannay, ' he cried, 'for God's sake what does it mean?'

'Where is Mary?' I gasped, and I remember I clutched at a lapel of hiscoat. 

He pulled me to the low stone wall by the roadside. 

'I don't know, ' he said hoarsely. 'We got your orders to come here thismorning. We were at Chiavagno, where Blenkiron told us to wait. Butlast night Mary disappeared ... I found she had hired a carriage andcome on ahead. I followed at once, and reached here an hour ago to findher gone ... The woman who keeps the place is away and there are onlytwo old servants left. They tell me that Mary came here late, and thatvery early in the morning a closed car came over the Staub with a manin it. They say he asked to see the young lady, and that they talkedtogether for some time, and that then she went off with him in the cardown the valley ... I must have passed it on my way up ... There's beensome black devilment that I can't follow. Who was the man? Who was theman?'

He looked as if he wanted to throttle me. 

'I can tell you that, ' I said. 'It was Ivery. '

He stared for a second as if he didn't understand. Then he leaped tohis feet and cursed like a trooper. 'You've botched it, as I knew youwould. I knew no good would come of your infernal subtleties. ' And heconsigned me and Blenkiron and the British army and Ivery and everybodyelse to the devil. 

I was past being angry. 'Sit down, man, ' I said, 'and listen to me. ' Itold him of what had happened at the Pink Chalet. He heard me out withhis head in his hands. The thing was too bad for cursing. 

'The Underground Railway!' he groaned. 'The thought of it drives memad. Why are you so calm, Hannay? She's in the hands of the cleverestdevil in the world, and you take it quietly. You should be a ravinglunatic. '

'I would be if it were any use, but I did all my raving last night inthat den of Ivery's. We've got to pull ourselves together, Wake. Firstof all, I trust Mary to the other side of eternity. She went with himof her own free will. I don't know why, but she must have had a reason, and be sure it was a good one, for she's far cleverer than you or me... We've got to follow her somehow. Ivery's bound for Germany, but hisroute is by the Pink Chalet, for he hopes to pick me up there. He wentdown the valley; therefore he is going to Switzerland by the Marjolana. That is a long circuit and will take him most of the day. Why he chosethat way I don't know, but there it is. We've got to get back by theStaub. '

'How did you come?' he asked. 

'That's our damnable luck. I came in a first-class six-cylinderDaimler, which is now lying a wreck in a meadow a mile up the road. We've got to foot it. '

'We can't do it. It would take too long. Besides, there's the frontierto pass. '

I remembered ruefully that I might have got a return passport from thePortuguese Jew, if I had thought of anything at the time beyond gettingto Santa Chiara. 

'Then we must make a circuit by the hillside and dodge the guards. It'sno use making difficulties, Wake. We're fairly up against it, but we'vegot to go on trying till we drop. Otherwise I'll take your advice andgo mad. '

'And supposing you get back to St Anton, you'll find the house shut upand the travellers gone hours before by the Underground Railway. '

'Very likely. But, man, there's always the glimmering of a chance. It'sno good chucking in your hand till the game's out. '

'Drop your proverbial philosophy, Mr Martin Tupper, and look up there. '

He had one foot on the wall and was staring at a cleft in the snow-lineacross the valley. The shoulder of a high peak dropped sharply to akind of nick and rose again in a long graceful curve of snow. All belowthe nick was still in deep shadow, but from the configuration of theslopes I judged that a tributary glacier ran from it to the mainglacier at the river head. 

'That's the Colle delle Rondini, ' he said, 'the Col of the Swallows. Itleads straight to the Staubthal near Grunewald. On a good day I havedone it in seven hours, but it's not a pass for winter-time. It hasbeen done of course, but not often.... Yet, if the weather held, itmight go even now, and that would bring us to St Anton by the evening. I wonder'--and he looked me over with an appraising eye--'I wonder ifyou're up to it. '

My stiffness had gone and I burned to set my restlessness to physicaltoil. 

'If you can do it, I can, ' I said. 

'No. There you're wrong. You're a hefty fellow, but you're nomountaineer, and the ice of the Colle delle Rondini needs knowledge. Itwould be insane to risk it with a novice, if there were any other way. But I'm damned if I see any, and I'm going to chance it. We can get arope and axes in the inn. Are you game?'

'Right you are. Seven hours, you say. We've got to do it in six. '

'You will be humbler when you get on the ice, ' he said grimly. 'We'dbetter breakfast, for the Lord knows when we shall see food again. '

We left the inn at five minutes to nine, with the sky cloudless and astiff wind from the north-west, which we felt even in the deep-cutvalley. Wake walked with a long, slow stride that tried my patience. Iwanted to hustle, but he bade me keep in step. 'You take your ordersfrom me, for I've been at this job before. Discipline in the ranks, remember. '

We crossed the river gorge by a plank bridge, and worked our way up theright bank, past the moraine, to the snout of the glacier. It was badgoing, for the snow concealed the boulders, and I often floundered inholes. Wake never relaxed his stride, but now and then he stopped tosniff the air. 

I observed that the weather looked good, and he differed. 'It's tooclear. There'll be a full-blown gale on the Col and most likely snow inthe afternoon. ' He pointed to a fat yellow cloud that was beginning tobulge over the nearest peak. After that I thought he lengthened hisstride. 

'Lucky I had these boots resoled and nailed at Chiavagno, ' was the onlyother remark he made till we had passed the seracs of the main glacierand turned up the lesser ice-stream from the Colle delle Rondini. 

By half-past ten we were near its head, and I could see clearly theribbon of pure ice between black crags too steep for snow to lie on, which was the means of ascent to the Col. The sky had clouded over, andugly streamers floated on the high slopes. We tied on the rope at thefoot of the bergschrund, which was easy to pass because of the winter'ssnow. Wake led, of course, and presently we came on to the icefall. 

In my time I had done a lot of scrambling on rocks and used to promisemyself a season in the Alps to test myself on the big peaks. If I evergo it will be to climb the honest rock towers around Chamonix, for Iwon't have anything to do with snow mountains. That day on the Colledelle Rondini fairly sickened me of ice. I daresay I might have likedit if I had done it in a holiday mood, at leisure and in good spirits. But to crawl up that couloir with a sick heart and a desperate impulseto hurry was the worst sort of nightmare. The place was as steep as awall of smooth black ice that seemed hard as granite. Wake did thestep-cutting, and I admired him enormously. He did not seem to use muchforce, but every step was hewn cleanly the right size, and they werespaced the right distance. In this job he was the true professional. Iwas thankful Blenkiron was not with us, for the thing would have givena squirrel vertigo. The chips of ice slithered between my legs and Icould watch them till they brought up just above the bergschrund. 

The ice was in shadow and it was bitterly cold. As we crawled up I hadnot the exercise of using the axe to warm me, and I got very numbstanding on one leg waiting for the next step. Worse still, my legsbegan to cramp. I was in good condition, but that time under Ivery'srack had played the mischief with my limbs. Muscles got out of place inmy calves and stood in aching lumps, till I almost squealed with thepain of it. I was mortally afraid I should slip, and every time I movedI called out to Wake to warn him. He saw what was happening and got thepick of his axe fixed in the ice before I was allowed to stir. He spokeoften to cheer me up, and his voice had none of its harshness. He waslike some ill-tempered generals I have known, very gentle in a battle. 

At the end the snow began to fall, a soft powder like the overspill ofa storm raging beyond the crest. It was just after that that Wake criedout that in five minutes we would be at the summit. He consulted hiswrist-watch. 'Jolly good time, too. Only twenty-five minutes behind mybest. It's not one o'clock. '

The next I knew I was lying flat on a pad of snow easing my crampedlegs, while Wake shouted in my ear that we were in for something bad. Iwas aware of a driving blizzard, but I had no thought of anything butthe blessed relief from pain. I lay for some minutes on my back with mylegs stiff in the air and the toes turned inwards, while my musclesfell into their proper place. 

It was certainly no spot to linger in. We looked down into a trough ofdriving mist, which sometimes swirled aside and showed a knuckle ofblack rock far below. We ate some chocolate, while Wake shouted in myear that now we had less step-cutting. He did his best to cheer me, buthe could not hide his anxiety. Our faces were frosted over like awedding-cake and the sting of the wind was like a whiplash on oureyelids. 

The first part was easy, down a slope of firm snow where steps were notneeded. Then came ice again, and we had to cut into it below the freshsurface snow. This was so laborious that Wake took to the rocks on theright side of the couloir, where there was some shelter from the mainforce of the blast. I found it easier, for I knew something aboutrocks, but it was difficult enough with every handhold and footholdglazed. Presently we were driven back again to the ice, and painfullycut our way through a throat of the ravine where the sides narrowed. There the wind was terrible, for the narrows made a kind of funnel, andwe descended, plastered against the wall, and scarcely able to breathe, while the tornado plucked at our bodies as if it would whisk us likewisps of grass into the abyss. 

After that the gorge widened and we had an easier slope, till suddenlywe found ourselves perched on a great tongue of rock round which thesnow blew like the froth in a whirlpool. As we stopped for breath, Wakeshouted in my ear that this was the Black Stone. 

'The what?' I yelled. 

'The Schwarzstein. The Swiss call the pass the Schwarzsteinthor. Youcan see it from Grunewald. '

I suppose every man has a tinge of superstition in him. To hear thatname in that ferocious place gave me a sudden access of confidence. Iseemed to see all my doings as part of a great predestined plan. Surelyit was not for nothing that the word which had been the key of my firstadventure in the long tussle should appear in this last phase. I feltnew strength in my legs and more vigour in my lungs. 'A good omen, ' Ishouted. 'Wake, old man, we're going to win out. '

'The worst is still to come, ' he said. 

He was right. To get down that tongue of rock to the lower snows of thecouloir was a job that fairly brought us to the end of our tether. Ican feel yet the sour, bleak smell of wet rock and ice and the hardnerve pain that racked my forehead. The Kaffirs used to say that therewere devils in the high berg, and this place was assuredly given overto the powers of the air who had no thought of human life. I seemed tobe in the world which had endured from the eternity before man wasdreamed of. There was no mercy in it, and the elements were pittingtheir immortal strength against two pigmies who had profaned theirsanctuary. I yearned for warmth, for the glow of a fire, for a tree orblade of grass or anything which meant the sheltered homeliness ofmortality. I knew then what the Greeks meant by panic, for I was scaredby the apathy of nature. But the terror gave me a kind of comfort, too. Ivery and his doings seemed less formidable. Let me but get out of thiscold hell and I could meet him with a new confidence. 

Wake led, for he knew the road and the road wanted knowing. Otherwisehe should have been last on the rope, for that is the place of thebetter man in a descent. I had some horrible moments following on whenthe rope grew taut, for I had no help from it. We zigzagged down therock, sometimes driven to the ice of the adjacent couloirs, sometimeson the outer ridge of the Black Stone, sometimes wriggling down littlecracks and over evil boiler-plates. The snow did not lie on it, but therock crackled with thin ice or oozed ice water. Often it was only bythe grace of God that I did not fall headlong, and pull Wake out of hishold to the bergschrund far below. I slipped more than once, but alwaysby a miracle recovered myself. To make things worse, Wake was tiring. Icould feel him drag on the rope, and his movements had not theprecision they had had in the morning. He was the mountaineer, and Ithe novice. If he gave out, we should never reach the valley. 

The fellow was clear grit all through. When we reached the foot of thetooth and sat huddled up with our faces away from the wind, I saw thathe was on the edge of fainting. What that effort Must have cost him inthe way of resolution you may guess, but he did not fail till the worstwas past. His lips were colourless, and he was choking with the nauseaof fatigue. I found a flask of brandy in his pocket, and a mouthfulrevived him. 

'I'm all out, ' he said. 'The road's easier now, and I can direct YOUabout the rest ... You'd better leave me. I'll only be a drag. I'llcome on when I feel better. '

'No, you don't, you old fool. You've got me over that infernal iceberg, and I'm going to see you home. '

I rubbed his arms and legs and made him swallow some chocolate. Butwhen he got on his feet he was as doddery as an old man. Happily we hadan easy course down a snow gradient, which we glissaded in veryunorthodox style. The swift motion freshened him up a little, and hewas able to put on the brake with his axe to prevent us cascading intothe bergschrund. We crossed it by a snow bridge, and started out on theseracs of the Schwarzstein glacier. 

I am no mountaineer--not of the snow and ice kind, anyway--but I have abig share of physical strength and I wanted it all now. For thoseseracs were an invention of the devil. To traverse that labyrinth in ablinding snowstorm, with a fainting companion who was too weak to jumpthe narrowest crevasse, and who hung on the rope like lead when therewas occasion to use it, was more than I could manage. Besides, everystep that brought us nearer to the valley now increased my eagerness tohurry, and wandering in that maze of clotted ice was like the nightmarewhen you stand on the rails with the express coming and are too weak toclimb on the platform. As soon as possible I left the glacier for thehillside, and though that was laborious enough in all conscience, yetit enabled me to steer a straight course. Wake never spoke a word. WhenI looked at him his face was ashen under a gale which should have madehis cheeks glow, and he kept his eyes half closed. He was staggering onat the very limits of his endurance ... 

By and by we were on the moraine, and after splashing through a dozenlittle glacier streams came on a track which led up the hillside. Wakenodded feebly when I asked if this was right. Then to my joy I saw agnarled pine. 

I untied the rope and Wake dropped like a log on the ground. 'Leaveme, ' he groaned. 'I'm fairly done. I'll come on later. ' And he shut hiseyes. 

My watch told me that it was after five o'clock. 

'Get on my back, ' I said. 'I won't part from you till I've found acottage. You're a hero. You've brought me over those damned mountainsin a blizzard, and that's what no other man in England would have done. Get up. '

He obeyed, for he was too far gone to argue. I tied his wrists togetherwith a handkerchief below my chin, for I wanted my arms to hold up hislegs. The rope and axes I left in a cache beneath the pine-tree. Then Istarted trotting down the track for the nearest dwelling. 

My strength felt inexhaustible and the quicksilver in my bones drove meforward. The snow was still falling, but the wind was dying down, andafter the inferno of the pass it was like summer. The road wound overthe shale of the hillside and then into what in spring must have beenupland meadows. Then it ran among trees, and far below me on the rightI could hear the glacier river churning in its gorge' Soon little emptyhuts appeared, and rough enclosed paddocks, and presently I came out ona shelf above the stream and smelt the wood-smoke of a human habitation. 

I found a middle-aged peasant in the cottage, a guide by profession insummer and a woodcutter in winter. 

'I have brought my Herr from Santa Chiara, ' I said, 'over theSchwarzsteinthor. He is very weary and must sleep. '

I decanted Wake into a chair, and his head nodded on his chest. But hiscolour was better. 

'You and your Herr are fools, ' said the man gruffly, but not unkindly. 'He must sleep or he will have a fever. The Schwarzsteinthor in thisdevil's weather! Is he English?'

'Yes, ' I said, 'like all madmen. But he's a good Herr, and a bravemountaineer. '

We stripped Wake of his Red Cross uniform, now a collection of soppingrags, and got him between blankets with a huge earthenware bottle ofhot water at his feet. The woodcutter's wife boiled milk, and this, with a little brandy added, we made him drink. I was quite easy in mymind about him, for I had seen this condition before. In the morning hewould be as stiff as a poker, but recovered. 

'Now I'm off for St Anton, ' I said. 'I must get there tonight. '

'You are the hardy one, ' the man laughed. 'I will show you the quickroad to Grunewald, where is the railway. With good fortune you may getthe last train. '

I gave him fifty francs on my Herr's behalf, learned his directions forthe road, and set off after a draught of goat's milk, munching my lastslab of chocolate. I was still strung up to a mechanical activity, andI ran every inch of the three miles to the Staubthal withoutconsciousness of fatigue. I was twenty minutes too soon for the train, and, as I sat on a bench on the platform, my energy suddenly ebbedaway. That is what happens after a great exertion. I longed to sleep, and when the train arrived I crawled into a carriage like a man with astroke. There seemed to be no force left in my limbs. I realized that Iwas leg-weary, which is a thing you see sometimes with horses, but notoften with men. 

All the journey I lay like a log in a kind of coma, and it was withdifficulty that I recognized my destination, and stumbled out of thetrain. But I had no sooner emerged from the station of St Anton than Igot my second wind. Much snow had fallen since yesterday, but it hadstopped now, the sky was clear, and the moon was riding. The sight ofthe familiar place brought back all my anxieties. The day on the Col ofthe Swallows was wiped out of my memory, and I saw only the inn atSanta Chiara, and heard Wake's hoarse voice speaking of Mary. Thelights were twinkling from the village below, and on the right I sawthe clump of trees which held the Pink Chalet. 

I took a short cut across the fields, avoiding the little town. I ranhard, stumbling often, for though I had got my mental energy back mylegs were still precarious. The station clock had told me that it wasnearly half-past nine. 

Soon I was on the high-road, and then at the Chalet gates. I heard asin a dream what seemed to be three shrill blasts on a whistle. Then abig car passed me, making for St Anton. For a second I would havehailed it, but it was past me and away. But I had a conviction that mybusiness lay in the house, for I thought Ivery was there, and Ivery waswhat mattered. 

I marched up the drive with no sort of plan in my head, only a blindrushing on fate. I remembered dimly that I had still three cartridgesin my revolver. 

The front door stood open and I entered and tiptoed down the passage tothe room where I had found the Portuguese Jew. No one hindered me, butit was not for lack of servants. I had the impression that there werepeople near me in the darkness, and I thought I heard German softlyspoken. There was someone ahead of me, perhaps the speaker, for I couldhear careful footsteps. It was very dark, but a ray of light came frombelow the door of the room. Then behind me I heard the hall door clang, and the noise of a key turned in its lock. I had walked straight into atrap and all retreat was cut off. 

My mind was beginning to work more clearly, though my purpose was stillvague. I wanted to get at Ivery and I believed that he was somewhere infront of me. And then I thought of the door which led from the chamberwhere I had been imprisoned. If I could enter that way I would have theadvantage of surprise. 

I groped on the right-hand side of the passage and found a handle. Itopened upon what seemed to be a dining-room, for there was a faintsmell of food. Again I had the impression of people near, who for someunknown reason did not molest me. At the far end I found another door, which led to a second room, which I guessed to be adjacent to thelibrary. Beyond it again must lie the passage from the chamber with therack. The whole place was as quiet as a shell. 

I had guessed right. I was standing in the passage where I had stoodthe night before. In front of me was the library, and there was thesame chink of light showing. Very softly I turned the handle and openedit a crack ... 

The first thing that caught my eye was the profile of Ivery. He waslooking towards the writing-table, where someone was sitting. 

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The Underground Railway

This is the story which I heard later from Mary ... 

She was at Milan with the new Anglo-American hospital when she gotBlenkiron's letter. Santa Chiara had always been the place agreed upon, and this message mentioned specifically Santa Chiara, and fixed a datefor her presence there. She was a little puzzled by it, for she had notyet had a word from Ivery, to whom she had written twice by theroundabout address in France which Bommaerts had given her. She did notbelieve that he would come to Italy in the ordinary course of things, and she wondered at Blenkiron's certainty about the date. 

The following morning came a letter from Ivery in which he ardentlypressed for a meeting. It was the first of several, full of strangetalk about some approaching crisis, in which the forebodings of theprophet were mingled with the solicitude of a lover. 

'The storm is about to break, ' he wrote, 'and I cannot think only of myown fate. I have something to tell you which vitally concerns yourself. You say you are in Lombardy. The Chiavagno valley is within easy reach, and at its head is the inn of Santa Chiara, to which I come on themorning of March 19th. Meet me there even if only for half an hour, Iimplore you. We have already shared hopes and confidences, and I wouldnow share with you a knowledge which I alone in Europe possess. Youhave the heart of a lion, my lady, worthy of what I can bring you. '

Wake was summoned from the _Croce Rossa_ unit with which he was workingat Vicenza, and the plan arranged by Blenkiron was faithfully carriedout. Four officers of the Alpini, in the rough dress of peasants of thehills, met them in Chiavagno on the morning of the 18th. It wasarranged that the hostess of Santa Chiara should go on a visit to hersister's son, leaving the inn, now in the shuttered quiet ofwintertime, under the charge of two ancient servants. The hour ofIvery's coming on the 19th had been fixed by him for noon, and thatmorning Mary would drive up the valley, while Wake and the Alpini wentinconspicuously by other routes so as to be in station around the placebefore midday. 

But on the evening of the 18th at the Hotel of the Four Kings inChiavagno Mary received another message. It was from me and told herthat I was crossing the Staub at midnight and would be at the innbefore dawn. It begged her to meet me there, to meet me alone withoutthe others, because I had that to say to her which must be said beforeIvery's coming. I have seen the letter. It was written in a hand whichI could not have distinguished from my own scrawl. It was not exactlywhat I would myself have written, but there were phrases in it which toMary's mind could have come only from me. Oh, I admit it was cunninglydone, especially the love-making, which was just the kind of stammeringthing which I would have achieved if I had tried to put my feelings onpaper. Anyhow, Mary had no doubt of its genuineness. She slipped offafter dinner, hired a carriage with two broken-winded screws and setoff up the valley. She left a line for Wake telling him to followaccording to the plan--a line which he never got, for his anxiety whenhe found she had gone drove him to immediate pursuit. 

At about two in the morning of the 19th after a slow and icy journeyshe arrived at the inn, knocked up the aged servants, made herself acup of chocolate out of her tea-basket and sat down to wait on mycoming. 

She has described to me that time of waiting. A home-made candle in atall earthenware candlestick lit up the little _salle-a-manger_, whichwas the one room in use. The world was very quiet, the snow muffled theroads, and it was cold with the penetrating chill of the small hours ofa March night. Always, she has told me, will the taste of chocolate andthe smell of burning tallow bring back to her that strange place andthe flutter of the heart with which she waited. For she was on the eveof the crisis of all our labours, she was very young, and youth has aquick fancy which will not be checked. Moreover, it was I who wascoming, and save for the scrawl of the night before, we had had nocommunication for many weeks ... She tried to distract her mind byrepeating poetry, and the thing that came into her head was Keats's'Nightingale', an odd poem for the time and place. 

There was a long wicker chair among the furnishings of the room, andshe lay down on it with her fur cloak muffled around her. There weresounds of movement in the inn. The old woman who had let her in, withthe scent of intrigue of her kind, had brightened when she heard thatanother guest was coming. Beautiful women do not travel at midnight fornothing. She also was awake and expectant. 

Then quite suddenly came the sound of a car slowing down outside. Shesprang to her feet in a tremor of excitement. It was like the Picardychateau again--the dim room and a friend coming out of the night. Sheheard the front door open and a step in the little hall ... 

She was looking at Ivery.... He slipped his driving-coat off as heentered, and bowed gravely. He was wearing a green hunting suit whichin the dusk seemed like khaki, and, as he was about my own height, fora second she was misled. Then she saw his face and her heart stopped. 

'You!' she cried. She had sunk back again on the wicker chair. 

'I have come as I promised, ' he said, 'but a little earlier. You willforgive me my eagerness to be with you. '

She did not heed his words, for her mind was feverishly busy. My letterhad been a fraud and this man had discovered our plans. She was alonewith him, for it would be hours before her friends came from Chiavagno. He had the game in his hands, and of all our confederacy she aloneremained to confront him. Mary's courage was pretty near perfect, andfor the moment she did not think of herself or her own fate. That camelater. She was possessed with poignant disappointment at our failure. All our efforts had gone to the winds, and the enemy had won withcontemptuous ease. Her nervousness disappeared before the intenseregret, and her brain set coolly and busily to work. 

It was a new Ivery who confronted her, a man with vigour and purpose inevery line of him and the quiet confidence of power. He spoke with aserious courtesy. 

'The time for make-believe is past, ' he was saying. 'We have fencedwith each other. I have told you only half the truth, and you havealways kept me at arm's length. But you knew in your heart, my dearestlady, that there must be the full truth between us some day, and thatday has come. I have often told you that I love you. I do not come nowto repeat that declaration. I come to ask you to entrust yourself tome, to join your fate to mine, for I can promise you the happinesswhich you deserve. '

He pulled up a chair and sat beside her. I cannot put down all that hesaid, for Mary, once she grasped the drift of it, was busy with her ownthoughts and did not listen. But I gather from her that he was verycandid and seemed to grow as he spoke in mental and moral stature. Hetold her who he was and what his work had been. He claimed the samepurpose as hers, a hatred of war and a passion to rebuild the worldinto decency. But now he drew a different moral. He was a German: itwas through Germany alone that peace and regeneration could come. Hiscountry was purged from her faults, and the marvellous Germandiscipline was about to prove itself in the eye of gods and men. Hetold her what he had told me in the room at the Pink Chalet, but withanother colouring. Germany was not vengeful or vainglorious, onlypatient and merciful. God was about to give her the power to decide theworld's fate, and it was for him and his kind to see that the decisionwas beneficent. The greater task of his people was only now beginning. 

That was the gist of his talk. She appeared to listen, but her mind wasfar away. She must delay him for two hours, three hours, four hours. Ifnot, she must keep beside him. She was the only one of our company leftin touch with the enemy ... 

'I go to Germany now, ' he was saying. 'I want you to come with me--tobe my wife. '

He waited for an answer, and got it in the form of a startled question. 

'To Germany? How?'

'It is easy, ' he said, smiling. 'The car which is waiting outside isthe first stage of a system of travel which we have perfected. ' Then hetold her about the Underground Railway--not as he had told it to me, toscare, but as a proof of power and forethought. 

His manner was perfect. He was respectful, devoted, thoughtful of allthings. He was the suppliant, not the master. He offered her power andpride, a dazzling career, for he had deserved well of his country, thedevotion of the faithful lover. He would take her to his mother'shouse, where she would be welcomed like a princess. I have no doubt hewas sincere, for he had many moods, and the libertine whom he hadrevealed to me at the Pink Chalet had given place to the honourablegentleman. He could play all parts well because he could believe inhimself in them all. 

Then he spoke of danger, not so as to slight her courage, but toemphasize his own thoughtfulness. The world in which she had lived wascrumbling, and he alone could offer a refuge. She felt the steelgauntlet through the texture of the velvet glove. 

All the while she had been furiously thinking, with her chin in herhand in the old way ... She might refuse to go. He could compel her, nodoubt, for there was no help to be got from the old servants. But itmight be difficult to carry an unwilling woman over the first stages ofthe Underground Railway. There might be chances ... Supposing heaccepted her refusal and left her. Then indeed he would be gone forever and our game would have closed with a fiasco. The great antagonistof England would go home rejoicing, taking his sheaves with him. 

At this time she had no personal fear of him. So curious a thing is thehuman heart that her main preoccupation was with our mission, not withher own fate. To fail utterly seemed too bitter. Supposing she wentwith him. They had still to get out of Italy and cross Switzerland. Ifshe were with him she would be an emissary of the Allies in the enemy'scamp. She asked herself what could she do, and told herself 'Nothing. 'She felt like a small bird in a very large trap, and her chiefsensation was that of her own powerlessness. But she had learnedBlenkiron's gospel and knew that Heaven sends amazing chances to thebold. And, even as she made her decision, she was aware of a darkshadow lurking at the back of her mind, the shadow of the fear whichshe knew was awaiting her. For she was going into the unknown with aman whom she hated, a man who claimed to be her lover. 

It was the bravest thing I have ever heard of, and I have lived my lifeamong brave men. 

'I will come with you, ' she said. 'But you mustn't speak to me, please. I am tired and troubled and I want peace to think. '

As she rose weakness came over her and she swayed till his arm caughther. 'I wish I could let you rest for a little, ' he said tenderly, 'buttime presses. The car runs smoothly and you can sleep there. '

He summoned one of the servants to whom he handed Mary. 'We leave inten minutes, ' he said, and he went out to see to the car. 

Mary's first act in the bedroom to which she was taken was to bathe hereyes and brush her hair. She felt dimly that she must keep her headclear. Her second was to scribble a note to Wake, telling him what hadhappened, and to give it to the servant with a tip. 

'The gentleman will come in the morning, ' she said. 'You must give ithim at once, for it concerns the fate of your country. ' The womangrinned and promised. It was not the first time she had done errandsfor pretty ladies. 

Ivery settled her in the great closed car with much solicitude, andmade her comfortable with rugs. Then he went back to the inn for asecond, and she saw a light move in the _salle-a-manger_. He returnedand spoke to the driver in German, taking his seat beside him. 

But first he handed Mary her note to Wake. 'I think you left thisbehind you, ' he said. He had not opened it. 

Alone in the car Mary slept. She saw the figures of Ivery and thechauffeur in the front seat dark against the headlights, and then theydislimned into dreams. She had undergone a greater strain than sheknew, and was sunk in the heavy sleep of weary nerves. 

When she woke it was daylight. They were still in Italy, as her firstglance told her, so they could not have taken the Staub route. Theyseemed to be among the foothills, for there was little snow, but nowand then up tributary valleys she had glimpses of the high peaks. Shetried hard to think what it could mean, and then remembered theMarjolana. Wake had laboured to instruct her in the topography of theAlps, and she had grasped the fact of the two open passes. But theMarjolana meant a big circuit, and they would not be in Switzerlandtill the evening. They would arrive in the dark, and pass out of it inthe dark, and there would be no chance of succour. She felt very lonelyand very weak. 

Throughout the morning her fear grew. The more hopeless her chance ofdefeating Ivery became the more insistently the dark shadow crept overher mind. She tried to steady herself by watching the show from thewindows. The car swung through little villages, past vineyards andpine-woods and the blue of lakes, and over the gorges of mountainstreams. There seemed to be no trouble about passports. The sentries atthe controls waved a reassuring hand when they were shown some cardwhich the chauffeur held between his teeth. In one place there was alongish halt, and she could hear Ivery talking Italian with twoofficers of Bersaglieri, to whom he gave cigars. They were fresh-faced, upstanding boys, and for a second she had an idea of flinging open thedoor and appealing to them to save her. But that would have beenfutile, for Ivery was clearly amply certificated. She wondered whatpart he was now playing. 

The Marjolana route had been chosen for a purpose. In one town Iverymet and talked to a civilian official, and more than once the carslowed down and someone appeared from the wayside to speak a word andvanish. She was assisting at the last gathering up of the threads of agreat plan, before the Wild Birds returned to their nest. Mostly theseconferences seemed to be in Italian, but once or twice she gatheredfrom the movement of the lips that German was spoken and that thisrough peasant or that black-hatted bourgeois was not of Italian blood. 

Early in the morning, soon after she awoke, Ivery had stopped the carand offered her a well-provided luncheon basket. She could eat nothing, and watched him breakfast off sandwiches beside the driver. In theafternoon he asked her permission to sit with her. The car drew up in alonely place, and a tea-basket was produced by the chauffeur. Iverymade tea, for she seemed too listless to move, and she drank a cup withhim. After that he remained beside her. 

'In half an hour we shall be out of Italy, ' he said. The car wasrunning up a long valley to the curious hollow between snowy saddleswhich is the crest of the Marjolana. He showed her the place on a roadmap. As the altitude increased and the air grew colder he wrapped therugs closer around her and apologized for the absence of a foot-warmer. 'In a little, ' he said, 'we shall be in the land where your slightestwish will be law. '

She dozed again and so missed the frontier post. When she woke the carwas slipping down the long curves of the Weiss valley, before itnarrows to the gorge through which it debouches on Grunewald. 

'We are in Switzerland now, ' she heard his voice say. It may have beenfancy, but it seemed to her that there was a new note in it. He spoketo her with the assurance of possession. They were outside the countryof the Allies, and in a land where his web was thickly spread. 

'Where do we stop tonight?' she asked timidly. 

'I fear we cannot stop. Tonight also you must put up with the car. Ihave a little errand to do on the way, which will delay us a fewminutes, and then we press on. Tomorrow, my fairest one, fatigue willbe ended. '

There was no mistake now about the note of possession in his voice. Mary's heart began to beat fast and wild. The trap had closed down onher and she saw the folly of her courage. It had delivered her boundand gagged into the hands of one whom she loathed more deeply everymoment, whose proximity was less welcome than a snake's. She had tobite hard on her lip to keep from screaming. 

The weather had changed and it was snowing hard, the same storm thathad greeted us on the Col of the Swallows. The pace was slower now, andIvery grew restless. He looked frequently at his watch, and snatchedthe speaking-tube to talk to the driver. Mary caught the word 'StAnton'. 

'Do we go by St Anton?' she found voice to ask. 

'Yes, ' he said shortly. 

The word gave her the faintest glimmering of hope, for she knew thatPeter and I had lived at St Anton. She tried to look out of the blurredwindow, but could see nothing except that the twilight was falling. Shebegged for the road-map, and saw that so far as she could make out theywere still in the broad Grunewald valley and that to reach St Antonthey had to cross the low pass from the Staubthal. The snow was stilldrifting thick and the car crawled. 

Then she felt the rise as they mounted to the pass. Here the going wasbad, very different from the dry frost in which I had covered the sameroad the night before. Moreover, there seemed to be curious obstacles. Some careless wood-cart had dropped logs on the highway, and more thanonce both Ivery and the chauffeur had to get out to shift them. In oneplace there had been a small landslide which left little room to pass, and Mary had to descend and cross on foot while the driver took the carover alone. Ivery's temper seemed to be souring. To the girl's reliefhe resumed the outside seat, where he was engaged in constant argumentwith the chauffeur. 

At the head of the pass stands an inn, the comfortable hostelry of HerrKronig, well known to all who clamber among the lesser peaks of theStaubthal. There in the middle of the way stood a man with a lantern. 

'The road is blocked by a snowfall, ' he cried. 'They are clearing itnow. It will be ready in half an hour's time. '

Ivery sprang from his seat and darted into the hotel. His business wasto speed up the clearing party, and Herr Kronig himself accompanied himto the scene of the catastrophe. Mary sat still, for she had suddenlybecome possessed of an idea. She drove it from her as foolishness, butit kept returning. Why had those tree-trunks been spilt on the road?Why had an easy pass after a moderate snowfall been suddenly closed?

A man came out of the inn-yard and spoke to the chauffeur. It seemed tobe an offer of refreshment, for the latter left his seat anddisappeared inside. He was away for some time and returned shiveringand grumbling at the weather, with the collar of his greatcoat turnedup around his ears. A lantern had been hung in the porch and as hepassed Mary saw the man. She had been watching the back of his headidly during the long drive, and had observed that it was of the roundbullet type, with no nape to the neck, which is common in theFatherland. Now she could not see his neck for the coat collar, but shecould have sworn that the head was a different shape. The man seemed tosuffer acutely from the cold, for he buttoned the collar round his chinand pulled his cap far over his brows. 

Ivery came back, followed by a dragging line of men with spades andlanterns. He flung himself into the front seat and nodded to the driverto start. The man had his engine going already so as to lose no time. He bumped over the rough debris of the snowfall and then fairly let thecar hum. Ivery was anxious for speed, but he did not want his neckbroken and he yelled out to take care. The driver nodded and sloweddown, but presently he had got up speed again. 

If Ivery was restless, Mary was worse. She seemed suddenly to have comeon the traces of her friends. In the St Anton valley the snow hadstopped and she let down the window for air, for she was choking withsuspense. The car rushed past the station, down the hill by Peter'scottage, through the village, and along the lake shore to the PinkChalet. 

Ivery halted it at the gate. 'See that you fill up with petrol, ' hetold the man. 'Bid Gustav get the Daimler and be ready to follow inhalf in hour. '

He spoke to Mary through the open window. 

'I will keep you only a very little time. I think you had better waitin the car, for it will be more comfortable than a dismantled house. Aservant will bring you food and more rugs for the night journey. '

Then he vanished up the dark avenue. 

Mary's first thought was to slip out and get back to the village andthere to find someone who knew me or could take her where Peter lived. But the driver would prevent her, for he had been left behind on guard. She looked anxiously at his back, for he alone stood between her andliberty. 

That gentleman seemed to be intent on his own business. As soon asIvery's footsteps had grown faint, he had backed the car into theentrance, and turned it so that it faced towards St Anton. Then veryslowly it began to move. 

At the same moment a whistle was blown shrilly three times. The door onthe right had opened and someone who had been waiting in the shadowsclimbed painfully in. Mary saw that it was a little man and that he wasa cripple. She reached a hand to help him, and he fell on to thecushions beside her. The car was gathering speed. 

Before she realized what was happening the new-comer had taken her handand was patting it. 

 * * * * *

About two minutes later I was entering the gate of the Pink Chalet. 

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The Cage of the Wild Birds

'Why, Mr Ivery, come right in, ' said the voice at the table. There wasa screen before me, stretching from the fireplace to keep off thedraught from the door by which I had entered. It stood higher than myhead but there were cracks in it through which I could watch the room. I found a little table on which I could lean my back, for I wasdropping with fatigue. 

Blenkiron sat at the writing-table and in front of him were little rowsof Patience cards. Wood ashes still smouldered in the stove, and a lampstood at his right elbow which lit up the two figures. The bookshelvesand the cabinets were in twilight. 

'I've been hoping to see you for quite a time. ' Blenkiron was busyarranging the little heaps of cards, and his face was wreathed inhospitable smiles. I remember wondering why he should play the host tothe true master of the house. 

Ivery stood erect before him. He was rather a splendid figure now thathe had sloughed all disguises and was on the threshold of his triumph. Even through the fog in which my brain worked it was forced upon methat here was a man born to play a big part. He had a jowl like a Romanking on a coin, and scornful eyes that were used to mastery. He wasyounger than me, confound him, and now he looked it. 

He kept his eyes on the speaker, while a smile played round his mouth, a very ugly smile. 

'So, ' he said. 'We have caught the old crow too. I had scarcely hopedfor such good fortune, and, to speak the truth, I had not concernedmyself much about you. But now we shall add you to the bag. And what abag of vermin to lay out on the lawn!' He flung back his head andlaughed. 

'Mr Ivery--' Blenkiron began, but was cut short. 

'Drop that name. All that is past, thank God! I am the Graf vonSchwabing, an officer of the Imperial Guard. I am not the least of theweapons that Germany has used to break her enemies. '

'You don't say, ' drawled Blenkiron, still fiddling with his Patiencecards. 

The man's moment had come, and he was minded not to miss a jot of histriumph. His figure seemed to expand, his eye kindled, his voice rangwith pride. It was melodrama of the best kind and he fairly rolled itround his tongue. I don't think I grudged it him, for I was fingeringsomething in my pocket. He had won all right, but he wouldn't enjoy hisvictory long, for soon I would shoot him. I had my eye on the very spotabove his right ear where I meant to put my bullet ... For I was veryclear that to kill him was the only way to protect Mary. I feared thewhole seventy millions of Germany less than this man. That was thesingle idea that remained firm against the immense fatigue that presseddown on me. 

'I have little time to waste on you, ' said he who had been calledIvery. 'But I will spare a moment to tell you a few truths. Yourchildish game never had a chance. I played with you in England and Ihave played with you ever since. You have never made a move but I havequietly countered it. Why, man, you gave me your confidence. TheAmerican Mr Donne ... '

'What about Clarence?' asked Blenkiron. His face seemed a study in purebewilderment. 

'I was that interesting journalist. '

'Now to think of that!' said Blenkiron in a sad, gentle voice. 'Ithought I was safe with Clarence. Why, he brought me a letter from oldJoe Hooper and he knew all the boys down Emporia way. '

Ivery laughed. 'You have never done me justice, I fear; but I think youwill do it now. Your gang is helpless in my hands. General Hannay ... 'And I wish I could give you a notion of the scorn with which hepronounced the word 'General'. 

'Yes--Dick?' said Blenkiron intently. 

'He has been my prisoner for twenty-four hours. And the pretty MissMary, too. You are all going with me in a little to my own country. Youwill not guess how. We call it the Underground Railway, and you willhave the privilege of studying its working.... I had not troubled muchabout you, for I had no special dislike of you. You are only ablundering fool, what you call in your country easy fruit. '

'I thank you, Graf, ' Blenkiron said solemnly. 

'But since you are here you will join the others ... One last word. Tobeat inepts such as you is nothing. There is a far greater thing. Mycountry has conquered. You and your friends will be dragged at thechariot wheels of a triumph such as Rome never saw. Does that penetrateyour thick skull? Germany has won, and in two days the whole roundearth will be stricken dumb by her greatness. '

As I watched Blenkiron a grey shadow of hopelessness seemed to settleon his face. His big body drooped in his chair, his eyes fell, and hisleft hand shuffled limply among his Patience cards. I could not get mymind to work, but I puzzled miserably over his amazing blunders. He hadwalked blindly into the pit his enemies had dug for him. Peter musthave failed to get my message to him, and he knew nothing of lastnight's work or my mad journey to Italy. We had all bungled, the wholewretched bunch of us, Peter and Blenkiron and myself ... I had afeeling at the back of my head that there was something in it all thatI couldn't understand, that the catastrophe could not be quite assimple as it seemed. But I had no power to think, with the insolentfigure of Ivery dominating the room ... Thank God I had a bulletwaiting for him. That was the one fixed point in the chaos of my mind. For the first time in my life I was resolute on killing one particularman, and the purpose gave me a horrid comfort. 

Suddenly Ivery's voice rang out sharp. 'Take your hand out of yourpocket. You fool, you are covered from three points in the walls. Amovement and my men will make a sieve of you. Others before you havesat in that chair, and I am used to take precautions. Quick. Both handson the table. '

There was no mistake about Blenkiron's defeat. He was done and out, andI was left with the only card. He leaned wearily on his arms with thepalms of his hands spread out. 

'I reckon you've gotten a strong hand, Graf, ' he said, and his voicewas flat with despair. 

'I hold a royal flush, ' was the answer. 

And then suddenly came a change. Blenkiron raised his head, and hissleepy, ruminating eyes looked straight at Ivery. 

'I call you, ' he said. 

I didn't believe my ears. Nor did Ivery. 

'The hour for bluff is past, ' he said. 

'Nevertheless I call you. '

At that moment I felt someone squeeze through the door behind me andtake his place at my side. The light was so dim that I saw only ashort, square figure, but a familiar voice whispered in my ear. 'It'sme--Andra Amos. Man, this is a great ploy. I'm here to see the end o't. '

No prisoner waiting on the finding of the jury, no commander expectingnews of a great battle, ever hung in more desperate suspense than I didduring the next seconds. I had forgotten my fatigue; my back no longerneeded support. I kept my eyes glued to the crack in the screen and myears drank in greedily every syllable. 

Blenkiron was now sitting bolt upright with his chin in his hands. There was no shadow of melancholy in his lean face. 

'I say I call you, Herr Graf von Schwabing. I'm going to put you wiseabout some little things. You don't carry arms, so I needn't warn youagainst monkeying with a gun. You're right in saying that there arethree places in these walls from which you can shoot. Well, for yourinformation I may tell you that there's guns in all three, but they'recovering _you_ at this moment. So you'd better be good. '

Ivery sprang to attention like a ramrod. 'Karl, ' he cried. 'Gustav!'

As if by magic figures stood on either side of him, like warders by acriminal. They were not the sleek German footmen whom I had seen at theChalet. One I did not recognize. The other was my servant, GeordieHamilton. 

He gave them one glance, looked round like a hunted animal, and thensteadied himself. The man had his own kind of courage. 

'I've gotten something to say to you, ' Blenkiron drawled. 'It's been atough fight, but I reckon the hot end of the poker is with you. Icompliment you on Clarence Donne. You fooled me fine over thatbusiness, and it was only by the mercy of God you didn't win out. Yousee, there was just the one of us who was liable to recognize youwhatever way you twisted your face, and that was Dick Hannay. I giveyou good marks for Clarence ... For the rest, I had you beaten flat. '

He looked steadily at him. 'You don't believe it. Well, I'll give youproof. I've been watching your Underground Railway for quite a time. I've had my men on the job, and I reckon most of the lines are nowclosed for repairs. All but the trunk line into France. That I'mkeeping open, for soon there's going to be some traffic on it. '

At that I saw Ivery's eyelids quiver. For all his self-command he wasbreaking. 

'I admit we cut it mighty fine, along of your fooling me aboutClarence. But you struck a bad snag in General Hannay, Graf. Yourheart-to-heart talk with him was poor business. You reckoned you hadhim safe, but that was too big a risk to take with a man like Dick, unless you saw him cold before you left him ... He got away from thisplace, and early this morning I knew all he knew. After that it waseasy. I got the telegram you had sent this morning in the name ofClarence Donne and it made me laugh. Before midday I had this wholeoutfit under my hand. Your servants have gone by the UndergroundRailway--to France. Ehrlich--well, I'm sorry about Ehrlich. '

I knew now the name of the Portuguese Jew. 

'He wasn't a bad sort of man, ' Blenkiron said regretfully, 'and he wasplumb honest. I couldn't get him to listen to reason, and he would playwith firearms. So I had to shoot. '

'Dead?' asked Ivery sharply. 

'Ye-es. I don't miss, and it was him or me. He's under the icenow--where you wanted to send Dick Hannay. He wasn't your kind, Graf, and I guess he has some chance of getting into Heaven. If I weren't ahard-shell Presbyterian I'd say a prayer for his soul. '

I looked only at Ivery. His face had gone very pale, and his eyes werewandering. I am certain his brain was working at lightning speed, buthe was a rat in a steel trap and the springs held him. If ever I saw aman going through hell it was now. His pasteboard castle had crumbledabout his ears and he was giddy with the fall of it. The man was madeof pride, and every proud nerve of him was caught on the raw. 

'So much for ordinary business, ' said Blenkiron. 'There's the matter ofa certain lady. You haven't behaved over-nice about her, Graf, but I'mnot going to blame you. You maybe heard a whistle blow when you werecoming in here? No! Why, it sounded like Gabriel's trump. Peter musthave put some lung power into it. Well, that was the signal that MissMary was safe in your car ... But in our charge. D'you comprehend?'

He did. The ghost of a flush appeared in his cheeks. 

'You ask about General Hannay? I'm not just exactly sure where Dick isat the moment, but I opine he's in Italy. '

I kicked aside the screen, thereby causing Amos almost to fall on hisface. 

'I'm back, ' I said, and pulled up an arm-chair, and dropped into it. 

I think the sight of me was the last straw for Ivery. I was a wildenough figure, grey with weariness, soaked, dirty, with the clothes ofthe porter Joseph Zimmer in rags from the sharp rocks of theSchwarzsteinthor. As his eyes caught mine they wavered, and I sawterror in them. He knew he was in the presence of a mortal enemy. 

'Why, Dick, ' said Blenkiron with a beaming face, 'this is mightyopportune. How in creation did you get here?'

'I walked, ' I said. I did not want to have to speak, for I was tootired. I wanted to watch Ivery's face. 

Blenkiron gathered up his Patience cards, slipped them into a littleleather case and put it in his pocket. 

'I've one thing more to tell you. The Wild Birds have been summonedhome, but they won't ever make it. We've gathered them in--Pavia, andHofgaard, and Conradi. Ehrlich is dead. And you are going to join therest in our cage. '

As I looked at my friend, his figure seemed to gain in presence. He satsquare in his chair with a face like a hanging judge, and his eyes, sleepy no more, held Ivery as in a vice. He had dropped, too, his drawland the idioms of his ordinary speech, and his voice came out hard andmassive like the clash of granite blocks. 

'You're at the bar now, Graf von Schwabing. For years you've done yourbest against the decencies of life. You have deserved well of yourcountry, I don't doubt it. But what has your country deserved of theworld? One day soon Germany has to do some heavy paying, and you arethe first instalment. '

'I appeal to the Swiss law. I stand on Swiss soil, and I demand that Ibe surrendered to the Swiss authorities. ' Ivery spoke with dry lips andthe sweat was on his brow. 

'Oh, no, no, ' said Blenkiron soothingly. 'The Swiss are a nice people, and I would hate to add to the worries of a poor little neutral state... All along both sides have been outside the law in this game, andthat's going to continue. We've abode by the rules and so must you ... For years you've murdered and kidnapped and seduced the weak andignorant, but we're not going to judge your morals. We leave that tothe Almighty when you get across Jordan. We're going to wash our handsof you as soon as we can. You'll travel to France by the UndergroundRailway and there be handed over to the French Government. From what Iknow they've enough against you to shoot you every hour of the day fora twelvemonth. '

I think he had expected to be condemned by us there and then and sentto join Ehrlich beneath the ice. Anyhow, there came a flicker of hopeinto his eyes. I daresay he saw some way to dodge the Frenchauthorities if he once got a chance to use his miraculous wits. Anyhow, he bowed with something very like self-possession, and asked permissionto smoke. As I have said, the man had his own courage. 

'Blenkiron, ' I cried, 'we're going to do nothing of the kind. '

He inclined his head gravely towards me. 'What's your notion, Dick?'

'We've got to make the punishment fit the crime, ' I said. I was sotired that I had to form my sentences laboriously, as if I werespeaking a half-understood foreign tongue. 

'Meaning?'

'I mean that if you hand him over to the French he'll either twist outof their hands somehow or get decently shot, which is far too good forhim. This man and his kind have sent millions of honest folk to theirgraves. He has sat spinning his web like a great spider and for everythread there has been an ocean of blood spilled. It's his sort thatmade the war, not the brave, stupid, fighting Boche. It's his sortthat's responsible for all the clotted beastliness ... And he's neverbeen in sight of a shell. I'm for putting him in the front line. No, Idon't mean any Uriah the Hittite business. I want him to have asporting chance, just what other men have. But, by God, he's going tolearn what is the upshot of the strings he's been pulling so merrily... He told me in two days' time Germany would smash our armies tohell. He boasted that he would be mostly responsible for it. Well, lethim be there to see the smashing. '

'I reckon that's just, ' said Blenkiron. 

Ivery's eyes were on me now, fascinated and terrified like those of abird before a rattlesnake. I saw again the shapeless features of theman in the Tube station, the residuum of shrinking mortality behind hisdisguises. He seemed to be slipping something from his pocket towardshis mouth, but Geordie Hamilton caught his wrist. 

'Wad ye offer?' said the scandalized voice of my servant. 'Sirr, theprisoner would appear to be trying to puishon hisself. Wull I searchhim?'

After that he stood with each arm in the grip of a warder. 

'Mr Ivery, ' I said, 'last night, when I was in your power, you indulgedyour vanity by gloating over me. I expected it, for your class does notbreed gentlemen. We treat our prisoners differently, but it is fairthat you should know your fate. You are going into France, and I willsee that you are taken to the British front. There with my old divisionyou will learn something of the meaning of war. Understand that by noconceivable chance can you escape. Men will be detailed to watch youday and night and to see that you undergo the full rigour of thebattlefield. You will have the same experience as other people, nomore, no less. I believe in a righteous God and I know that sooner orlater you will find death--death at the hands of your own people--anhonourable death which is far beyond your deserts. But before it comesyou will have understood the hell to which you have condemned honestmen. '

In moments of great fatigue, as in moments of great crisis, the mindtakes charge and may run on a track independent of the will. It was notmyself that spoke, but an impersonal voice which I did not know, avoice in whose tones rang a strange authority. Ivery recognized the icyfinality of it, and his body seemed to wilt, and droop. Only the holdof the warders kept him from falling. 

I, too, was about at the end of my endurance. I felt dimly that theroom had emptied except for Blenkiron and Amos, and that the former wastrying to make me drink brandy from the cup of a flask. I struggled tomy feet with the intention of going to Mary, but my legs would notcarry me ... I heard as in a dream Amos giving thanks to an Omnipotencein whom he officially disbelieved. 'What's that the auld man in theBible said? Now let thou thy servant depart in peace. That's the wayI'm feelin' mysel'. ' And then slumber came on me like an armed man, andin the chair by the dying wood-ash I slept off the ache of my limbs, the tension of my nerves, and the confusion of my brain. 

CHAPTER TWENTY

The Storm Breaks in the West

The following evening--it was the 20th day of March--I started forFrance after the dark fell. I drove Ivery's big closed car, and withinsat its owner, bound and gagged, as others had sat before him on thesame errand. Geordie Hamilton and Amos were his companions. From whatBlenkiron had himself discovered and from the papers seized in the PinkChalet I had full details of the road and its mysterious stages. It waslike the journey of a mad dream. In a back street of a little town Iwould exchange passwords with a nameless figure and be giveninstructions. At a wayside inn at an appointed hour a voice speaking athick German would advise that this bridge or that railway crossing hadbeen cleared. At a hamlet among pine woods an unknown man would clamberup beside me and take me past a sentry-post. Smooth as clockwork wasthe machine, till in the dawn of a spring morning I found myselfdropping into a broad valley through little orchards just beginning toblossom, and I knew that I was in France. After that, Blenkiron's ownarrangements began, and soon I was drinking coffee with a younglieutenant of Chasseurs, and had taken the gag from Ivery's mouth. Thebluecoats looked curiously at the man in the green ulster whose facewas the colour of clay and who lit cigarette from cigarette with ashaky hand. 

The lieutenant rang up a General of Division who knew all about us. Athis headquarters I explained my purpose, and he telegraphed to an ArmyHeadquarters for a permission which was granted. It was not for nothingthat in January I had seen certain great personages in Paris, and thatBlenkiron had wired ahead of me to prepare the way. Here I handed overIvery and his guard, for I wanted them to proceed to Amiens underFrench supervision, well knowing that the men of that great army arenot used to let slip what they once hold. 

It was a morning of clear spring sunlight when we breakfasted in thatlittle red-roofed town among vineyards with a shining river looping atour feet. The General of Division was an Algerian veteran with a brushof grizzled hair, whose eye kept wandering to a map on the wall wherepins and stretched thread made a spider's web. 

'Any news from the north?' I asked. 

'Not yet, ' he said. 'But the attack comes soon. It will be against ourarmy in Champagne. ' With a lean finger he pointed out the enemydispositions. 

'Why not against the British?' I asked. With a knife and fork I made aright angle and put a salt dish in the centre. 'That is the Germanconcentration. They can so mass that we do not know which side of theangle they will strike till the blow falls. '

'It is true, ' he replied. 'But consider. For the enemy to attacktowards the Somme would be to fight over many miles of an oldbattle-ground where all is still desert and every yard of which youBritish know. In Champagne at a bound he might enter unbroken country. It is a long and difficult road to Amiens, but not so long to Chilons. Such is the view of Petain. Does it convince you?'

'The reasoning is good. Nevertheless he will strike at Amiens, and Ithink he will begin today. '

He laughed and shrugged his shoulders. '_Nous verrons_. You areobstinate, my general, like all your excellent countrymen. '

But as I left his headquarters an aide-de-camp handed him a message ona pink slip. He read it, and turned to me with a grave face. 

'You have a flair, my friend. I am glad we did not wager. This morningat dawn there is great fighting around St Quentin. Be comforted, forthey will not pass. Your _Marechal_ will hold them. '

That was the first news I had of the battle. 

At Dijon according to plan I met the others. I only just caught theParis train, and Blenkiron's great wrists lugged me into the carriagewhen it was well in motion. There sat Peter, a docile figure in acarefully patched old R. F. C. Uniform. Wake was reading a pile of Frenchpapers, and in a corner Mary, with her feet up on the seat, was soundasleep. 

We did not talk much, for the life of the past days had been so hecticthat we had no wish to recall it. Blenkiron's face wore an air ofsatisfaction, and as he looked out at the sunny spring landscape hehummed his only tune. Even Wake had lost his restlessness. He had on apair of big tortoiseshell reading glasses, and when he looked up fromhis newspaper and caught my eye he smiled. Mary slept like a child, delicately flushed, her breath scarcely stirring the collar of thegreatcoat which was folded across her throat. I remember looking with akind of awe at the curve of her young face and the long lashes that layso softly on her cheek, and wondering how I had borne the anxiety ofthe last months. Wake raised his head from his reading, glanced at Maryand then at me, and his eyes were kind, almost affectionate. He seemedto have won peace of mind among the hills. 

Only Peter was out of the picture. He was a strange, disconsolatefigure, as he shifted about to ease his leg, or gazed incuriously fromthe window. He had shaved his beard again, but it did not make himyounger, for his face was too lined and his eyes too old to change. When I spoke to him he looked towards Mary and held up a warning finger. 

'I go back to England, ' he whispered. 'Your little _mysie_ is going totake care of me till I am settled. We spoke of it yesterday at mycottage. I will find a lodging and be patient till the war is over. Andyou, Dick?'

'Oh, I rejoin my division. Thank God, this job is over. I have an easy_trund_ now and can turn my attention to straight-forward soldiering. Idon't mind telling you that I'll be glad to think that you and Mary andBlenkiron are safe at home. What about you, Wake?'

'I go back to my Labour battalion, ' he said cheerfully. 'Like you, Ihave an easier mind. '

I shook my head. 'We'll see about that. I don't like such sinful waste. We've had a bit of campaigning together and I know your quality. '

'The battalion's quite good enough for me, ' and he relapsed into aday-old _Temps_. 

Mary had suddenly woke, and was sitting upright with her fists in hereyes like a small child. Her hand flew to her hair, and her eyes ranover us as if to see that we were all there. As she counted the four ofus she seemed relieved. 

'I reckon you feel refreshed, Miss Mary, ' said Blenkiron. 'It's good tothink that now we can sleep in peace, all of us. Pretty soon you'll bein England and spring will be beginning, and please God it'll be thestart of a better world. Our work's over, anyhow. '

'I wonder, ' said the girl gravely. 'I don't think there's any dischargein this war. Dick, have you news of the battle? This was the day. '

'It's begun, ' I said, and told them the little I had learned from theFrench General. 'I've made a reputation as a prophet, for he thoughtthe attack was coming in Champagne. It's St Quentin right enough, but Idon't know what has happened. We'll hear in Paris. '

Mary had woke with a startled air as if she remembered her old instinctthat our work would not be finished without a sacrifice, and thatsacrifice the best of us. The notion kept recurring to me with anuneasy insistence. But soon she appeared to forget her anxiety. Thatafternoon as we journeyed through the pleasant land of France she wasin holiday mood, and she forced all our spirits up to her level. It wascalm, bright weather, the long curves of ploughland were beginning toquicken into green, the catkins made a blue mist on the willows by thewatercourses, and in the orchards by the red-roofed hamlets the blossomwas breaking. In such a scene it was hard to keep the mind sober andgrey, and the pall of war slid from us. Mary cosseted and fussed overPeter like an elder sister over a delicate little boy. She made himstretch his bad leg full length on the seat, and when she made tea forthe party of us it was a protesting Peter who had the last sugarbiscuit. Indeed, we were almost a merry company, for Blenkiron toldstories of old hunting and engineering days in the West, and Peter andI were driven to cap them, and Mary asked provocative questions, andWake listened with amused interest. It was well that we had thecarriage to ourselves, for no queerer rigs were ever assembled. Mary, as always, was neat and workmanlike in her dress; Blenkiron wasmagnificent in a suit of russet tweed with a pale-blue shirt andcollar, and well-polished brown shoes; but Peter and Wake were inuniforms which had seen far better days, and I wore still the boots andthe shapeless and ragged clothes of Joseph Zimmer, the porter fromArosa. 

We appeared to forget the war, but we didn't, for it was in thebackground of all our minds. Somewhere in the north there was raging adesperate fight, and its issue was the true test of our success orfailure. Mary showed it by bidding me ask for news at everystopping-place. I asked gendarmes and _Permissionnaires_, but I learnednothing. Nobody had ever heard of the battle. The upshot was that forthe last hour we all fell silent, and when we reached Paris about seveno'clock my first errand was to the bookstall. 

I bought a batch of evening papers, which we tried to read in the taxisthat carried us to our hotel. Sure enough there was the announcement inbig headlines. The enemy had attacked in great strength from south ofArras to the Oise; but everywhere he had been repulsed and held in ourbattle-zone. The leading articles were confident, the notes by thevarious military critics were almost braggart. At last the German hadbeen driven to an offensive, and the Allies would have the opportunitythey had longed for of proving their superior fighting strength. Itwas, said one and all, the opening of the last phase of the war. 

I confess that as I read my heart sank. If the civilians were soover-confident, might not the generals have fallen into the same trap?Blenkiron alone was unperturbed. Mary said nothing, but she sat withher chin in her hands, which with her was a sure sign of deeppreoccupation. 

Next morning the papers could tell us little more. The main attack hadbeen on both sides of St Quentin, and though the British had givenground it was only the outposts line that had gone. The mist hadfavoured the enemy, and his bombardment had been terrific, especiallythe gas shells. Every journal added the old old comment--that he hadpaid heavily for his temerity, with losses far exceeding those of thedefence. 

Wake appeared at breakfast in his private's uniform. He wanted to gethis railway warrant and be off at once, but when I heard that Amienswas his destination I ordered him to stay and travel with me in theafternoon. I was in uniform myself now and had taken charge of theoutfit. I arranged that Blenkiron, Mary, and Peter should go on toBoulogne and sleep the night there, while Wake and I would be droppedat Amiens to await instructions. 

I spent a busy morning. Once again I visited with Blenkiron the littlecabinet in the Boulevard St Germain, and told in every detail our workof the past two months. Once again I sat in the low building beside theInvalides and talked to staff officers. But some of the men I had seenon the first visit were not there. The chiefs of the French Army hadgone north. 

We arranged for the handling of the Wild Birds, now safely in France, and sanction was given to the course I had proposed to adopt withIvery. He and his guard were on their way to Amiens, and I would meetthem there on the morrow. The great men were very complimentary to us, so complimentary that my knowledge of grammatical French ebbed away andI could only stutter in reply. That telegram sent by Blenkiron on thenight of the 18th, from the information given me in the Pink Chalet, had done wonders in clearing up the situation. 

But when I asked them about the battle they could tell me little. Itwas a very serious attack in tremendous force, but the British line wasstrong and the reserves were believed to be sufficient. Petain and Fochhad gone north to consult with Haig. The situation in Champagne wasstill obscure, but some French reserves were already moving thence tothe Somme sector. One thing they did show me, the British dispositions. As I looked at the plan I saw that my old division was in the thick ofthe fighting. 

'Where do you go now?' I was asked. 

'To Amiens, and then, please God, to the battle front, ' I said. 

'Good fortune to you. You do not give body or mind much rest, mygeneral. '

After that I went to the _Mission Anglaise_, but they had nothingbeyond Haig's communique and a telephone message from G. H. Q. That thecritical sector was likely to be that between St Quentin and the Oise. The northern pillar of our defence, south of Arras, which they had beennervous about, had stood like a rock. That pleased me, for my oldbattalion of the Lennox Highlanders was there. 

Crossing the Place de la Concorde, we fell in with a British staffofficer of my acquaintance, who was just starting to motor back toG. H. Q. From Paris leave. He had a longer face than the people at theInvalides. 

'I don't like it, I tell you, ' he said. 'It's this mist that worriesme. I went down the whole line from Arras to the Oise ten days ago. Itwas beautifully sited, the cleverest thing you ever saw. The outpostline was mostly a chain of blobs--redoubts, you know, withmachine-guns--so arranged as to bring flanking fire to bear on theadvancing enemy. But mist would play the devil with that scheme, forthe enemy would be past the place for flanking fire before we knewit... Oh, I know we had good warning, and had the battle-zone manned intime, but the outpost line was meant to hold out long enough to geteverything behind in apple-pie order, and I can't see but how bigchunks of it must have gone in the first rush.... Mind you, we'vebanked everything on that battle-zone. It's damned good, but if it'sgone--'He flung up his hands. 

'Have we good reserves?' I asked. 

He shrugged his shoulders. 

'Have we positions prepared behind the battle-zone?'

'I didn't notice any, ' he said dryly, and was off before I could getmore out of him. 

'You look rattled, Dick, ' said Blenkiron as we walked to the hotel. 

'I seem to have got the needle. It's silly, but I feel worse about thisshow than I've ever felt since the war started. Look at this city here. The papers take it easily, and the people are walking about as ifnothing was happening. Even the soldiers aren't worried. You may callme a fool to take it so hard, but I've a sense in my bones that we'rein for the bloodiest and darkest fight of our lives, and that soonParis will be hearing the Boche guns as she did in 1914. '

'You're a cheerful old Jeremiah. Well, I'm glad Miss Mary's going to bein England soon. Seems to me she's right and that this game of oursisn't quite played out yet. I'm envying you some, for there's a placewaiting for you in the fighting line. '

'You've got to get home and keep people's heads straight there. That'sthe weak link in our chain and there's a mighty lot of work before you. '

'Maybe, ' he said abstractedly, with his eye on the top of the Vendomecolumn. 

The train that afternoon was packed with officers recalled from leave, and it took all the combined purchase of Blenkiron and myself to get acarriage reserved for our little party. At the last moment I opened thedoor to admit a warm and agitated captain of the R. F. C. In whom Irecognized my friend and benefactor, Archie Roylance. 

'Just when I was gettin' nice and clean and comfy a wire comes tellin'me to bundle back, all along of a new battle. It's a cruel war, Sir. 'The afflicted young man mopped his forehead, grinned cheerfully atBlenkiron, glanced critically at Peter, then caught sight of Mary andgrew at once acutely conscious of his appearance. He smoothed his hair, adjusted his tie and became desperately sedate. 

I introduced him to Peter and he promptly forgot Mary's existence. IfPeter had had any vanity in him it would have been flattered by thefrank interest and admiration in the boy's eyes. 'I'm tremendously gladto see you safe back, sir. I've always hoped I might have a chance ofmeeting you. We want you badly now on the front. Lensch is gettin' abit uppish. '

Then his eye fell on Peter's withered leg and he saw that he hadblundered. He blushed scarlet and looked his apologies. But theyweren't needed, for it cheered Peter to meet someone who talked of thepossibility of his fighting again. Soon the two were deep intechnicalities, the appalling technicalities of the airman. It was nogood listening to their talk, for you could make nothing of it, but itwas bracing up Peter like wine. Archie gave him a minute description ofLensch's latest doings and his new methods. He, too, had heard therumour that Peter had mentioned to me at St Anton, of a new Bocheplane, with mighty engines and stumpy wings cunningly cambered, whichwas a devil to climb; but no specimens had yet appeared over the line. They talked of Bali, and Rhys Davids, and Bishop, and McCudden, and allthe heroes who had won their spurs since the Somme, and of the newBritish makes, most of which Peter had never seen and had to haveexplained to him. 

Outside a haze had drawn over the meadows with the twilight. I pointedit out to Blenkiron. 

'There's the fog that's doing us. This March weather is just likeOctober, mist morning and evening. I wish to Heaven we could have somegood old drenching spring rain. '

Archie was discoursing of the Shark-Gladas machine. 

'I've always stuck to it, for it's a marvel in its way, but it has myheart fairly broke. The General here knows its little tricks. Don'tyou, sir? Whenever things get really excitin', the engine's apt to quitwork and take a rest. '

'The whole make should be publicly burned, ' I said, with gloomyrecollections. 

'I wouldn't go so far, sir. The old Gladas has surprisin' merits. Onher day there's nothing like her for pace and climbing-power, and shesteers as sweet as a racin' cutter. The trouble about her is she's toocomplicated. She's like some breeds of car--you want to be a mechanicalgenius to understand her ... If they'd only get her a little simplerand safer, there wouldn't be her match in the field. I'm about the onlyman that has patience with her and knows her merits, but she's oftenbeen nearly the death of me. All the same, if I were in for a big fightagainst some fellow like Lensch, where it was neck or nothing, I'mhanged if I wouldn't pick the Gladas. '

Archie laughed apologetically. 'The subject is banned for me in ourmess. I'm the old thing's only champion, and she's like a mare I usedto hunt that loved me so much she was always tryin' to chew the arm offme. But I wish I could get her a fair trial from one of the big pilots. I'm only in the second class myself after all. '

We were running north of St just when above the rattle of the trainrose a curious dull sound. It came from the east, and was like the lowgrowl of a veld thunderstorm, or a steady roll of muffled drums. 

'Hark to the guns!' cried Archie. 'My aunt, there's a tidy bombardmentgoin' on somewhere. '

I had been listening on and off to guns for three years. I had beenpresent at the big preparations before Loos and the Somme and Arras, and I had come to accept the racket of artillery as something naturaland inevitable like rain or sunshine. But this sound chilled me withits eeriness, I don't know why. Perhaps it was its unexpectedness, forI was sure that the guns had not been heard in this area since beforethe Marne. The noise must be travelling down the Oise valley, and Ijudged there was big fighting somewhere about Chauny or La Fere. Thatmeant that the enemy was pressing hard on a huge front, for here wasclearly a great effort on his extreme left wing. Unless it was ourcounter-attack. But somehow I didn't think so. 

I let down the window and stuck my head into the night. The fog hadcrept to the edge of the track, a gossamer mist through which housesand trees and cattle could be seen dim in the moonlight. The noisecontinued--not a mutter, but a steady rumbling flow as solid as theblare of a trumpet. Presently, as we drew nearer Amiens, we left itbehind us, for in all the Somme valley there is some curiousconfiguration which blankets sound. The countryfolk call it the 'SilentLand', and during the first phase of the Somme battle a man in Amienscould not hear the guns twenty miles off at Albert. 

As I sat down again I found that the company had fallen silent, eventhe garrulous Archie. Mary's eyes met mine, and in the indifferentlight of the French railway-carriage I could see excitement in them--Iknew it was excitement, not fear. She had never heard the noise of agreat barrage before. Blenkiron was restless, and Peter was sunk in hisown thoughts. I was growing very depressed, for in a little I wouldhave to part from my best friends and the girl I loved. But with thedepression was mixed an odd expectation, which was almost pleasant. Theguns had brought back my profession to me, I was moving towards theirthunder, and God only knew the end of it. The happy dream I had dreamedof the Cotswolds and a home with Mary beside me seemed suddenly to havefallen away to an infinite distance. I felt once again that I was onthe razor-edge of life. 

The last part of the journey I was casting back to rake up my knowledgeof the countryside. I saw again the stricken belt from Serre to Combleswhere we had fought in the summer of '17. I had not been present in theadvance of the following spring, but I had been at Cambrai and I knewall the down country from Lagnicourt to St Quentin. I shut my eyes andtried to picture it, and to see the roads running up to the line, andwondered just at what points the big pressure had come. They had toldme in Paris that the British were as far south as the Oise, so thebombardment we had heard must be directed to our address. WithPasschendaele and Cambrai in my mind, and some notion of thedifficulties we had always had in getting drafts, I was puzzled tothink where we could have found the troops to man the new front. Wemust be unholily thin on that long line. And against that awesomebombardment! And the masses and the new tactics that Ivery had braggedof!

When we ran into the dingy cavern which is Amiens station I seemed tonote a new excitement. I felt it in the air rather than deduced it fromany special incident, except that the platform was very crowded withcivilians, most of them with an extra amount of baggage. I wondered ifthe place had been bombed the night before. 

'We won't say goodbye yet, ' I told the others. 'The train doesn't leavefor half an hour. I'm off to try and get news. '

Accompanied by Archie, I hunted out an R. T. O. Of my acquaintance. To myquestions he responded cheerfully. 

'Oh, we're doing famously, sir. I heard this afternoon from a man inOperations that G. H. Q. Was perfectly satisfied. We've killed a lot ofHuns and only lost a few kilometres of ground ... You're going to yourdivision? Well, it's up Peronne way, or was last night. Cheyne andDunthorpe came back from leave and tried to steal a car to get up to it... Oh, I'm having the deuce of a time. These blighted civilians havegot the wind up, and a lot are trying to clear out. The idiots say theHuns will be in Amiens in a week. What's the phrase? "_Pourvu que lescivils tiennent. _" 'Fraid I must push on, Sir. '

I sent Archie back with these scraps of news and was about to make arush for the house of one of the Press officers, who would, I thought, be in the way of knowing things, when at the station entrance I ranacross Laidlaw. He had been B. G. G. S. In the corps to which my oldbrigade belonged, and was now on the staff of some army. He wasstriding towards a car when I grabbed his arm, and he turned on me avery sick face. 

'Good Lord, Hannay! Where did you spring from? The news, you say?' Hesank his voice, and drew me into a quiet corner. 'The news is hellish. '

'They told me we were holding, ' I observed. 

'Holding be damned! The Boche is clean through on a broad front. Hebroke us today at Maissemy and Essigny. Yes, the battle-zone. He'sflinging in division after division like the blows of a hammer. Whatelse could you expect?' And he clutched my arm fiercely. 'How in God'sname could eleven divisions hold a front of forty miles? And againstfour to one in numbers? It isn't war, it's naked lunacy. '

I knew the worst now, and it didn't shock me, for I had known it wascoming. Laidlaw's nerves were pretty bad, for his face was pale and hiseyes bright like a man with a fever. 

'Reserves!' and he laughed bitterly. 'We have three infantry divisionsand two cavalry. They're into the mill long ago. The French are comingup on our right, but they've the devil of a way to go. That's what I'mdown here about. And we're getting help from Horne and Plumer. But allthat takes days, and meantime we're walking back like we did at Mons. And at this time of day, too ... Oh, yes, the whole line's retreating. Parts of it were pretty comfortable, but they had to get back or be putin the bag. I wish to Heaven I knew where our right divisions have gotto. For all I know they're at Compiegne by now. The Boche was over thecanal this morning, and by this time most likely he's across the Somme. '

At that I exclaimed. 'D'you mean to tell me we're going to losePeronne?'

'Peronne!' he cried. 'We'll be lucky not to lose Amiens! ... And on thetop of it all I've got some kind of blasted fever. I'll be raving in anhour. '

He was rushing off, but I held him. 

'What about my old lot?' I asked. 

'Oh, damned good, but they're shot all to bits. Every division didwell. It's a marvel they weren't all scuppered, and it'll be a flamingmiracle if they find a line they can stand on. Westwater's got a legsmashed. He was brought down this evening, and you'll find him in thehospital. Fraser's killed and Lefroy's a prisoner--at least, that wasmy last news. I don't know who's got the brigades, but Masterton'scarrying on with the division ... You'd better get up the line as fastas you can and take over from him. See the Army Commander. He'll be inAmiens tomorrow morning for a pow-wow. '

Laidlaw lay wearily back in his car and disappeared into the night, while I hurried to the train. 

The others had descended to the platform and were grouped round Archie, who was discoursing optimistic nonsense. I got them into the carriageand shut the door. 

'It's pretty bad, ' I said. 'The front's pierced in several places andwe're back to the Upper Somme. I'm afraid it isn't going to stop there. I'm off up the line as soon as I can get my orders. Wake, you'll comewith me, for every man will be wanted. Blenkiron, you'll see Mary andPeter safe to England. We're just in time, for tomorrow it mightn't beeasy to get out of Amiens. '

I can see yet the anxious faces in that ill-lit compartment. We saidgoodbye after the British style without much to-do. I remember that oldPeter gripped my hand as if he would never release it, and that Mary'sface had grown very pale. If I delayed another second I should havehowled, for Mary's lips were trembling and Peter had eyes like awounded stag. 'God bless you, ' I said hoarsely, and as I went off Iheard Peter's voice, a little cracked, saying 'God bless you, my oldfriend. '

 * * * * *

I spent some weary hours looking for Westwater. He was not in the bigclearing station, but I ran him to earth at last in the new hospitalwhich had just been got going in the Ursuline convent. He was the moststerling little man, in ordinary life rather dry and dogmatic, with atrick of taking you up sharply which didn't make him popular. Now hewas lying very stiff and quiet in the hospital bed, and his blue eyeswere solemn and pathetic like a sick dog's. 

'There's nothing much wrong with me, ' he said, in reply to my question. 'A shell dropped beside me and damaged my foot. They say they'll haveto cut it off ... I've an easier mind now you're here, Hannay. Ofcourse you'll take over from Masterton. He's a good man but not quiteup to his job. Poor Fraser--you've heard about Fraser. He was done inat the very start. Yes, a shell. And Lefroy. If he's alive and not toobadly smashed the Hun has got a troublesome prisoner. '

He was too sick to talk, but he wouldn't let me go. 

'The division was all right. Don't you believe anyone who says wedidn't fight like heroes. Our outpost line held up the Hun for sixhours, and only about a dozen men came back. We could have stuck it outin the battle-zone if both flanks hadn't been turned. They got throughCrabbe's left and came down the Verey ravine, and a big wave rushedShropshire Wood ... We fought it out yard by yard and didn't budge tillwe saw the Plessis dump blazing in our rear. Then it was about time togo ... We haven't many battalion commanders left. Watson, Endicot, Crawshay ... ' He stammered out a list of gallant fellows who had gone. 

'Get back double quick, Hannay. They want you. I'm not happy aboutMasterton. He's too young for the job. ' And then a nurse drove me out, and I left him speaking in the strange forced voice of great weakness. 

At the foot of the staircase stood Mary. 

'I saw you go in, ' she said, 'so I waited for you. '

'Oh, my dear, ' I cried, 'you should have been in Boulogne by now. Whatmadness brought you here?'

'They know me here and they've taken me on. You couldn't expect me tostay behind. You said yourself everybody was wanted, and I'm in aService like you. Please don't be angry, Dick. '

I wasn't angry, I wasn't even extra anxious. The whole thing seemed tohave been planned by fate since the creation of the world. The game wehad been engaged in wasn't finished and it was right that we shouldplay it out together. With that feeling came a conviction, too, ofultimate victory. Somehow or sometime we should get to the end of ourpilgrimage. But I remembered Mary's forebodings about the sacrificerequired. The best of us. That ruled me out, but what about her?

I caught her to my arms. 'Goodbye, my very dearest. Don't worry aboutme, for mine's a soft job and I can look after my skin. But oh! takecare of yourself, for you are all the world to me. '

She kissed me gravely like a wise child. 

'I am not afraid for you, ' she said. 'You are going to stand in thebreach, and I know--I know you will win. Remember that there is someonehere whose heart is so full of pride of her man that it hasn't room forfear. '

As I went out of the convent door I felt that once again I had beengiven my orders. 

 * * * * *

It did not surprise me that, when I sought out my room on an upperfloor of the Hotel de France, I found Blenkiron in the corridor. He wasin the best of spirits. 

'You can't keep me out of the show, Dick, ' he said, 'so you needn'tstart arguing. Why, this is the one original chance of a lifetime forJohn S. Blenkiron. Our little fight at Erzerum was only a side-show, but this is a real high-class Armageddon. I guess I'll find a way tomake myself useful. '

I had no doubt he would, and I was glad he had stayed behind. But Ifelt it was hard on Peter to have the job of returning to England aloneat such a time, like useless flotsam washed up by a flood. 

'You needn't worry, ' said Blenkiron. 'Peter's not making England thistrip. To the best of my knowledge he has beat it out of this townshipby the eastern postern. He had some talk with Sir Archibald Roylance, and presently other gentlemen of the Royal Flying Corps appeared, andthe upshot was that Sir Archibald hitched on to Peter's grip anddeparted without saying farewell. My notion is that he's gone to have afew words with his old friends at some flying station. Or he might havethe idea of going back to England by aeroplane, and so having one lastflutter before he folds his wings. Anyhow, Peter looked a mighty happyman. The last I saw he was smoking his pipe with a batch of young ladsin a Flying Corps waggon and heading straight for Germany. '

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

How an Exile Returned to His Own People

Next morning I found the Army Commander on his way to Doullens. 

'Take over the division?' he said. 'Certainly. I'm afraid there isn'tmuch left of it. I'll tell Carr to get through to the CorpsHeadquarters, when he can find them. You'll have to nurse the remnants, for they can't be pulled out yet--not for a day or two. Bless me, Hannay, there are parts of our line which we're holding with a man anda boy. You've got to stick it out till the French take over. We're nothanging on by our eyelids--it's our eyelashes now. '

'What about positions to fall back on, sir?' I asked. 

'We're doing our best, but we haven't enough men to prepare them. ' Heplucked open a map. 'There we're digging a line--and there. If we canhold that bit for two days we shall have a fair line resting on theriver. But we mayn't have time. '

Then I told him about Blenkiron, whom of course he had heard of. 'Hewas one of the biggest engineers in the States, and he's got a nailingfine eye for country. He'll make good somehow if you let him help inthe job. '

'The very fellow, ' he said, and he wrote an order. 'Take this to Jacksand he'll fix up a temporary commission. Your man can find a uniformsomewhere in Amiens. '

After that I went to the detail camp and found that Ivery had dulyarrived. 

'The prisoner has given no trouble, sirr, ' Hamilton reported. 'But he'sa wee thing peevish. They're saying that the Gairmans is gettin' onfine, and I was tellin' him that he should be proud of his ain folk. But he wasn't verra weel pleased. '

Three days had wrought a transformation in Ivery. That face, once socool and capable, was now sharpened like a hunted beast's. Hisimagination was preying on him and I could picture its torture. He, whohad been always at the top directing the machine, was now only a cog init. He had never in his life been anything but powerful; now he wasimpotent. He was in a hard, unfamiliar world, in the grip of somethingwhich he feared and didn't understand, in the charge of men who were inno way amenable to his persuasiveness. It was like a proud and bullyingmanager suddenly forced to labour in a squad of navvies, and worse, forthere was the gnawing physical fear of what was coming. 

He made an appeal to me. 

'Do the English torture their prisoners?' he asked. 'You have beatenme. I own it, and I plead for mercy. I will go on my knees if you like. I am not afraid of death--in my own way. '

'Few people are afraid of death--in their own way. '

'Why do you degrade me? I am a gentleman. '

'Not as we define the thing, ' I said. 

His jaw dropped. 'What are you going to do with me?' he quavered. 

'You have been a soldier, ' I said. 'You are going to see a littlefighting--from the ranks. There will be no brutality, you will be armedif you want to defend yourself, you will have the same chance ofsurvival as the men around you. You may have heard that your countrymenare doing well. It is even possible that they may win the battle. Whatwas your forecast to me? Amiens in two days, Abbeville in three. Well, you are a little behind scheduled time, but still you are prospering. You told me that you were the chief architect of all this, and you aregoing to be given the chance of seeing it, perhaps of sharing init--from the other side. Does it not appeal to your sense of justice?'

He groaned and turned away. I had no more pity for him than I wouldhave had for a black mamba that had killed my friend and was now caughtto a cleft tree. Nor, oddly enough, had Wake. If we had shot Iveryoutright at St Anton, I am certain that Wake would have called usmurderers. Now he was in complete agreement. His passionate hatred ofwar made him rejoice that a chief contriver of war should be made toshare in its terrors. 

'He tried to talk me over this morning, ' he told me. 'Claimed he was onmy side and said the kind of thing I used to say last year. It made merather ashamed of some of my past performances to hear that scoundrelimitating them ... By the way, Hannay, what are you going to do withme?'

'You're coming on my staff. You're a stout fellow and I can't dowithout you. '

'Remember I won't fight. '

'You won't be asked to. We're trying to stem the tide which wants toroll to the sea. You know how the Boche behaves in occupied country, and Mary's in Amiens. '

At that news he shut his lips. 

'Still--' he began. 

'Still, ' I said. 'I don't ask you to forfeit one of your blessedprinciples. You needn't fire a shot. But I want a man to carry ordersfor me, for we haven't a line any more, only a lot of blobs likequicksilver. I want a clever man for the job and a brave one, and Iknow that you're not afraid. '

'No, ' he said. 'I don't think I am--much. Well. I'm content!'

I started Blenkiron off in a car for Corps Headquarters, and in theafternoon took the road myself. I knew every inch of the country--thelift of the hill east of Amiens, the Roman highway that ran straight asan arrow to St Quentin, the marshy lagoons of the Somme, and that broadstrip of land wasted by battle between Dompierre and Peronne. I hadcome to Amiens through it in January, for I had been up to the linebefore I left for Paris, and then it had been a peaceful place, withpeasants tilling their fields, and new buildings going up on the oldbattle-field, and carpenters busy at cottage roofs, and scarcely atransport waggon on the road to remind one of war. Now the main routewas choked like the Albert road when the Somme battle firstbegan--troops going up and troops coming down, the latter in the laststage of weariness; a ceaseless traffic of ambulances one way andammunition waggons the other; busy staff cars trying to worm a waythrough the mass; strings of gun horses, oddments of cavalry, and hereand there blue French uniforms. All that I had seen before; but onething was new to me. Little country carts with sad-faced women andmystified children in them and piles of household plenishing werecreeping westward, or stood waiting at village doors. Beside thesetramped old men and boys, mostly in their Sunday best as if they weregoing to church. I had never seen the sight before, for I had neverseen the British Army falling back. The dam which held up the watershad broken and the dwellers in the valley were trying to save theirpitiful little treasures. And over everything, horse and man, cart andwheelbarrow, road and tillage, lay the white March dust, the sky wasblue as June, small birds were busy in the copses, and in the cornersof abandoned gardens I had a glimpse of the first violets. 

Presently as we topped a rise we came within full noise of the guns. That, too, was new to me, for it was no ordinary bombardment. There wasa special quality in the sound, something ragged, straggling, intermittent, which I had never heard before. It was the sign of openwarfare and a moving battle. 

At Peronne, from which the newly returned inhabitants had a second timefled, the battle seemed to be at the doors. There I had news of mydivision. It was farther south towards St Christ. We groped our wayamong bad roads to where its headquarters were believed to be, whilethe voice of the guns grew louder. They turned out to be those ofanother division, which was busy getting ready to cross the river. Thenthe dark fell, and while airplanes flew west into the sunset there wasa redder sunset in the east, where the unceasing flashes of gunfirewere pale against the angry glow of burning dumps. The sight of thebonnet-badge of a Scots Fusilier made me halt, and the man turned outto belong to my division. Half an hour later I was taking over from themuch-relieved Masterton in the ruins of what had once been a sugar-beetfactory. 

There to my surprise I found Lefroy. The Boche had held him prisonerfor precisely eight hours. During that time he had been so interestedin watching the way the enemy handled an attack that he had forgottenthe miseries of his position. He described with blasphemous admirationthe endless wheel by which supplies and reserve troops move up, thesilence, the smoothness, the perfect discipline. Then he had realizedthat he was a captive and unwounded, and had gone mad. Being aheavy-weight boxer of note, he had sent his two guards spinning into aditch, dodged the ensuing shots, and found shelter in the lee of ablazing ammunition dump where his pursuers hesitated to follow. Then hehad spent an anxious hour trying to get through an outpost line, whichhe thought was Boche. Only by overhearing an exchange of oaths in theaccents of Dundee did he realize that it was our own ... It was acomfort to have Lefroy back, for he was both stout-hearted andresourceful. But I found that I had a division only on paper. It wasabout the strength of a brigade, the brigades battalions, and thebattalions companies. 

 * * * * *

This is not the place to write the story of the week that followed. Icould not write it even if I wanted to, for I don't know it. There wasa plan somewhere, which you will find in the history books, but with meit was blank chaos. Orders came, but long before they arrived thesituation had changed, and I could no more obey them than fly to themoon. Often I had lost touch with the divisions on both flanks. Intelligence arrived erratically out of the void, and for the most partwe worried along without it. I heard we were under the French--first itwas said to be Foch, and then Fayolle, whom I had met in Paris. But thehigher command seemed a million miles away, and we were left to use ourmother wits. My problem was to give ground as slowly as possible and atthe same time not to delay too long, for retreat we must, with theBoche sending in brand-new divisions each morning. It was a kind of warworlds distant from the old trench battles, and since I had been taughtno other I had to invent rules as I went along. Looking back, it seemsa miracle that any of us came out of it. Only the grace of God and theuncommon toughness of the British soldier bluffed the Hun and preventedhim pouring through the breach to Abbeville and the sea. We were nobetter than a mosquito curtain stuck in a doorway to stop the advanceof an angry bull. 

The Army Commander was right; we were hanging on with our eyelashes. Wemust have been easily the weakest part of the whole front, for we wereholding a line which was never less than two miles and was often, as Ijudged, nearer five, and there was nothing in reserve to us except someoddments of cavalry who chased about the whole battle-field under vagueorders. Mercifully for us the Boche blundered. Perhaps he did not knowour condition, for our airmen were magnificent and you never saw aBoche plane over our line by day, though they bombed us merrily bynight. If he had called our bluff we should have been done, but he puthis main strength to the north and the south of us. North he pressedhard on the Third Army, but he got well hammered by the Guards north ofBapaume and he could make no headway at Arras. South he drove at theParis railway and down the Oise valley, but there Petain's reserves hadarrived, and the French made a noble stand. 

Not that he didn't fight hard in the centre where we were, but hehadn't his best troops, and after we got west of the bend of the Sommehe was outrunning his heavy guns. Still, it was a desperate enoughbusiness, for our flanks were all the time falling back, and we had toconform to movements we could only guess at. After all, we were on thedirect route to Amiens, and it was up to us to yield slowly so as togive Haig and Petain time to get up supports. I was a miser about everyyard of ground, for every yard and every minute were precious. We alonestood between the enemy and the city, and in the city was Mary. 

If you ask me about our plans I can't tell you. I had a new one everyhour. I got instructions from the Corps, but, as I have said, they wereusually out of date before they arrived, and most of my tactics I hadto invent myself. I had a plain task, and to fulfil it I had to usewhat methods the Almighty allowed me. I hardly slept, I ate little, Iwas on the move day and night, but I never felt so strong in my life. It seemed as if I couldn't tire, and, oddly enough, I was happy. If aman's whole being is focused on one aim, he has no time to worry ... Iremember we were all very gentle and soft-spoken those days. Lefroy, whose tongue was famous for its edge, now cooed like a dove. The troopswere on their uppers, but as steady as rocks. We were against the endof the world, and that stiffens a man ... 

Day after day saw the same performance. I held my wavering front withan outpost line which delayed each new attack till I could take itsbearings. I had special companies for counter-attack at selectedpoints, when I wanted time to retire the rest of the division. I thinkwe must have fought more than a dozen of such little battles. We lostmen all the time, but the enemy made no big scoop, though he was alwayson the edge of one. Looking back, it seems like a succession ofmiracles. Often I was in one end of a village when the Boche was in theother. Our batteries were always on the move, and the work of thegunners was past praising. Sometimes we faced east, sometimes north, and once at a most critical moment due south, for our front waved andblew like a flag at a masthead ... Thank God, the enemy was gettingaway from his big engine, and his ordinary troops were fagged and poorin quality. It was when his fresh shock battalions came on that I heldmy breath ... He had a heathenish amount of machine-guns and he usedthem beautifully. Oh, I take my hat off to the Boche performance. Hewas doing what we had tried to do at the Somme and the Aisne and Arrasand Ypres, and he was more or less succeeding. And the reason was thathe was going bald-headed for victory. 

The men, as I have said, were wonderfully steady and patient under thefiercest trial that soldiers can endure. I had all kinds in thedivision--old army, new army, Territorials--and you couldn't pick andchoose between them. They fought like Trojans, and, dirty, weary, andhungry, found still some salt of humour in their sufferings. It was aproof of the rock-bottom sanity of human nature. But we had one manwith us who was hardly sane.... 

In the hustle of those days I now and then caught sight of Ivery. I hadto be everywhere at all hours, and often visited that remnant of ScotsFusiliers into which the subtlest brain in Europe had been drafted. Heand his keepers were never on outpost duty or in any counter-attack. They were part of the mass whose only business was to retirediscreetly. This was child's play to Hamilton, who had been out sinceMons; and Amos, after taking a day to get used to it, wrapped himselfin his grim philosophy and rather enjoyed it. You couldn't surpriseAmos any more than a Turk. But the man with them, whom they neverleft--that was another matter. 

'For the first wee bit, ' Hamilton reported, 'we thocht he was gaundaft. Every shell that came near he jumped like a young horse. And thegas! We had to tie on his mask for him, for his hands were fushionless. There was whiles when he wadna be hindered from standin' up and talkin'to hisself, though the bullets was spittin'. He was what ye calldemoralized ... Syne he got as though he didna hear or see onything. Hedid what we tell't him, and when we let him be he sat down and grat. He's aye greetin' ... Queer thing, sirr, but the Gairmans canna hithim. I'm aye shakin' bullets out o' my claes, and I've got a hole in myshoulder, and Andra took a bash on his tin that wad hae felled onybodythat hadna a heid like a stot. But, sirr, the prisoner taks no scaith. Our boys are feared of him. There was an Irishman says to me that hehad the evil eye, and ye can see for yerself that he's no canny. '

I saw that his skin had become like parchment and that his eyes wereglassy. I don't think he recognized me. 

'Does he take his meals?' I asked. 

'He doesna eat muckle. But he has an unco thirst. Ye canna keep him offthe men's water-bottles. '

He was learning very fast the meaning of that war he had so confidentlyplayed with. I believe I am a merciful man, but as I looked at him Ifelt no vestige of pity. He was dreeing the weird he had prepared forothers. I thought of Scudder, of the thousand friends I had lost, ofthe great seas of blood and the mountains of sorrow this man and hislike had made for the world. Out of the corner of my eye I could seethe long ridges above Combles and Longueval which the salt of the earthhad fallen to win, and which were again under the hoof of the Boche. Ithought of the distracted city behind us and what it meant to me, andthe weak, the pitifully weak screen which was all its defence. Ithought of the foul deeds which had made the German name to stink byland and sea, foulness of which he was the arch-begetter. And then Iwas amazed at our forbearance. He would go mad, and madness for him wasmore decent than sanity. 

I had another man who wasn't what you might call normal, and that wasWake. He was the opposite of shell-shocked, if you understand me. Hehad never been properly under fire before, but he didn't give a strawfor it. I had known the same thing with other men, and they generallyended by crumpling up, for it isn't natural that five or six feet ofhuman flesh shouldn't be afraid of what can torture and destroy it. Thenatural thing is to be always a little scared, like me, but by aneffort of the will and attention to work to contrive to forget it. ButWake apparently never gave it a thought. He wasn't foolhardy, onlyindifferent. He used to go about with a smile on his face, a smile ofcontentment. Even the horrors--and we had plenty of them--didn't affecthim. His eyes, which used to be hot, had now a curious open innocencelike Peter's. I would have been happier if he had been a little rattled. 

One night, after we had had a bad day of anxiety, I talked to him as wesmoked in what had once been a French dug-out. He was an extra rightarm to me, and I told him so. 'This must be a queer experience foryou, ' I said. 

'Yes, ' he replied, 'it is very wonderful. I did not think a man couldgo through it and keep his reason. But I know many things I did notknow before. I know that the soul can be reborn without leaving thebody. '

I stared at him, and he went on without looking at me. 

'You're not a classical scholar, Hannay? There was a strange cult inthe ancient world, the worship of Magna Mater--the Great Mother. Toenter into her mysteries the votary passed through a bath ofblood----I think I am passing through that bath. I think that like theinitiate I shall be _renatus in aeternum_--reborn into the eternal. '

I advised him to have a drink, for that talk frightened me. It lookedas if he were becoming what the Scots call 'fey'. Lefroy noticed thesame thing and was always speaking about it. He was as brave as a bullhimself, and with very much the same kind of courage; but Wake'sgallantry perturbed him. 'I can't make the chap out, ' he told me. 'Hebehaves as if his mind was too full of better things to give a damn forBoche guns. He doesn't take foolish risks--I don't mean that, but hebehaves as if risks didn't signify. It's positively eerie to see himmaking notes with a steady hand when shells are dropping likehailstones and we're all thinking every minute's our last. You've gotto be careful with him, sir. He's a long sight too valuable for us tospare. '

Lefroy was right about that, for I don't know what I should have donewithout him. The worst part of our job was to keep touch with ourflanks, and that was what I used Wake for. He covered country like amoss-trooper, sometimes on a rusty bicycle, oftener on foot, and youcouldn't tire him. I wonder what other divisions thought of the grimyprivate who was our chief means of communication. He knew nothing ofmilitary affairs before, but he got the hang of this rough-and-tumblefighting as if he had been born for it. He never fired a shot; hecarried no arms; the only weapons he used were his brains. And theywere the best conceivable. I never met a staff officer who was so quickat getting a point or at sizing up a situation. He had put his backinto the business, and first-class talent is not common anywhere. Oneday a G. S. O. From a neighbouring division came to see me. 

'Where on earth did you pick up that man Wake?' he asked. 

'He's a conscientious objector and a non-combatant, ' I said. 

'Then I wish to Heaven we had a few more conscientious objectors inthis show. He's the only fellow who seems to know anything about thisblessed battle. My general's sending you a chit about him. '

'No need, ' I said, laughing. 'I know his value. He's an old friend ofmine. '

I used Wake as my link with Corps Headquarters, and especially withBlenkiron. For about the sixth day of the show I was beginning to getrather desperate. This kind of thing couldn't go on for ever. We weremiles back now, behind the old line of '17, and, as we rested one flankon the river, the immediate situation was a little easier. But I hadlost a lot of men, and those that were left were blind with fatigue. The big bulges of the enemy to north and south had added to the lengthof the total front, and I found I had to fan out my thin ranks. TheBoche was still pressing on, though his impetus was slacker. If he knewhow little there was to stop him in my section he might make a pushwhich would carry him to Amiens. Only the magnificent work of ourairmen had prevented him getting that knowledge, but we couldn't keepthe secrecy up for ever. Some day an enemy plane would get over, and itonly needed the drive of a fresh storm-battalion or two to scatter us. I wanted a good prepared position, with sound trenches and decentwiring. Above all I wanted reserves--reserves. The word was on my lipsall day and it haunted my dreams. I was told that the French were torelieve us, but when--when? My reports to Corps Headquarters were onelong wail for more troops. I knew there was a position prepared behindus, but I needed men to hold it. 

Wake brought in a message from Blenkiron. 'We're waiting for you, Dick, ' he wrote, 'and we've gotten quite a nice little home ready foryou. This old man hasn't hustled so hard since he struck copper inMontana in '92. We've dug three lines of trenches and made a heap ofpretty redoubts, and I guess they're well laid out, for the Army staffhas supervised them and they're no slouches at this brand ofengineering. You would have laughed to see the labour we employed. Wehad all breeds of Dago and Chinaman, and some of your own South Africanblacks, and they got so busy on the job they forgot about bedtime. Iused to be reckoned a bit of a slave driver, but my special talentsweren't needed with this push. I'm going to put a lot of money intoforeign missions henceforward. '

I wrote back: 'Your trenches are no good without men. For God's sakeget something that can hold a rifle. My lot are done to the world. '

Then I left Lefroy with the division and went down on the back of anambulance to see for myself. I found Blenkiron, some of the Armyengineers, and a staff officer from Corps Headquarters, and I foundArchie Roylance. 

They had dug a mighty good line and wired it nobly. It ran from theriver to the wood of La Bruyere on the little hill above the Ablainstream. It was desperately long, but I saw at once it couldn't well beshorter, for the division on the south of us had its hands full withthe fringe of the big thrust against the French. 

'It's no good blinking the facts, ' I told them. 'I haven't a thousandmen, and what I have are at the end of their tether. If you put 'em inthese trenches they'll go to sleep on their feet. When can the Frenchtake over?'

I was told that it had been arranged for next morning, but that it hadnow been put off twenty-four hours. It was only a temporary measure, pending the arrival of British divisions from the north. 

Archie looked grave. 'The Boche is pushin' up new troops in thissector. We got the news before I left squadron headquarters. It looksas if it would be a near thing, sir. '

'It won't be a near thing. It's an absolute black certainty. My fellowscan't carry on as they are another day. Great God, they've had afortnight in hell! Find me more men or we buckle up at the next push. 'My temper was coming very near its limits. 

'We've raked the country with a small-tooth comb, sir, ' said one of thestaff officers. 'And we've raised a scratch pack. Best part of twothousand. Good men, but most of them know nothing about infantryfighting. We've put them into platoons, and done our best to give themsome kind of training. There's one thing may cheer you. We've plenty ofmachine-guns. There's a machine-gun school near by and we got all themen who were taking the course and all the plant. '

I don't suppose there was ever such a force put into the field before. It was a wilder medley than Moussy's camp-followers at First Ypres. There was every kind of detail in the shape of men returning fromleave, representing most of the regiments in the army. There were themen from the machine-gun school. There were Corps troops--sappers andA. S. C. , and a handful of Corps cavalry. Above all, there was a batch ofAmerican engineers, fathered by Blenkiron. I inspected them where theywere drilling and liked the look of them. 'Forty-eight hours, ' I saidto myself. 'With luck we may just pull it off. '

Then I borrowed a bicycle and went back to the division. But before Ileft I had a word with Archie. 'This is one big game of bluff, and it'syou fellows alone that enable us to play it. Tell your people thateverything depends on them. They mustn't stint the planes in thissector, for if the Boche once suspicions how little he's got before himthe game's up. He's not a fool and he knows that this is the short roadto Amiens, but he imagines we're holding it in strength. If we keep upthe fiction for another two days the thing's done. You say he's pushingup troops?'

'Yes, and he's sendin' forward his tanks. '

'Well, that'll take time. He's slower now than a week ago and he's gota deuce of a country to march over. There's still an outside chance wemay win through. You go home and tell the R. F. C. What I've told you. '

He nodded. 'By the way, sir, Pienaar's with the squadron. He would liketo come up and see you. '

'Archie, ' I said solemnly, 'be a good chap and do me a favour. If Ithink Peter's anywhere near the line I'll go off my head with worry. This is no place for a man with a bad leg. He should have been inEngland days ago. Can't you get him off--to Amiens, anyhow?'

'We scarcely like to. You see, we're all desperately sorry for him, hisfun gone and his career over and all that. He likes bein' with us andlistenin' to our yarns. He has been up once or twice too. TheShark-Gladas. He swears it's a great make, and certainly he knows howto handle the little devil. '

'Then for Heaven's sake don't let him do it again. I look to you, Archie, remember. Promise. '

'Funny thing, but he's always worryin' about you. He has a map on whichhe marks every day the changes in the position, and he'd hobble a mileto pump any of our fellows who have been up your way. '

That night under cover of darkness I drew back the division to thenewly prepared lines. We got away easily, for the enemy was busy withhis own affairs. I suspected a relief by fresh troops. 

There was no time to lose, and I can tell you I toiled to get thingsstraight before dawn. I would have liked to send my own fellows back torest, but I couldn't spare them yet. I wanted them to stiffen the freshlot, for they were veterans. The new position was arranged on the sameprinciples as the old front which had been broken on March 21st. Therewas our forward zone, consisting of an outpost line and redoubts, verycleverly sited, and a line of resistance. Well behind it were thetrenches which formed the battle-zone. Both zones were heavily wired, and we had plenty of machine-guns; I wish I could say we had plenty ofmen who knew how to use them. The outposts were merely to give thealarm and fall back to the line of resistance which was to hold out tothe last. In the forward zone I put the freshest of my own men, theunits being brought up to something like strength by the detailsreturning from leave that the Corps had commandeered. With them I putthe American engineers, partly in the redoubts and partly in companiesfor counter-attack. Blenkiron had reported that they could shoot likeDan'l Boone, and were simply spoiling for a fight. The rest of theforce was in the battle-zone, which was our last hope. If that went theBoche had a clear walk to Amiens. Some additional field batteries hadbeen brought up to support our very weak divisional artillery. Thefront was so long that I had to put all three of my emaciated brigadesin the line, so I had nothing to speak of in reserve. It was a mostalmighty gamble. 

We had found shelter just in time. At 6. 30 next day--for a change itwas a clear morning with clouds beginning to bank up from the west--theBoche let us know he was alive. He gave us a good drenching with gasshells which didn't do much harm, and then messed up our forward zonewith his trench mortars. At 7. 20 his men began to come on, first littlebunches with machine-guns and then the infantry in waves. It was clearthey were fresh troops, and we learned afterwards from prisoners thatthey were Bavarians--6th or 7th, I forget which, but the division thathung us up at Monchy. At the same time there was the sound of atremendous bombardment across the river. It looked as if the mainbattle had swung from Albert and Montdidier to a direct push forAmiens. I have often tried to write down the events of that day. Itried it in my report to the Corps; I tried it in my own diary; I triedit because Mary wanted it; but I have never been able to make any storythat hung together. Perhaps I was too tired for my mind to retain clearimpressions, though at the time I was not conscious of special fatigue. More likely it is because the fight itself was so confused, for nothinghappened according to the books and the orderly soul of the Boche musthave been scarified ... At first it went as I expected. The outpostline was pushed in, but the fire from the redoubts broke up theadvance, and enabled the line of resistance in the forward zone to givea good account of itself. There was a check, and then another big wave, assisted by a barrage from field-guns brought far forward. This timethe line of resistance gave at several points, and Lefroy flung in theAmericans in a counter-attack. That was a mighty performance. Theengineers, yelling like dervishes, went at it with the bayonet, andthose that preferred swung their rifles as clubs. It was terriblycostly fighting and all wrong, but it succeeded. They cleared the Bocheout of a ruined farm he had rushed, and a little wood, andre-established our front. Blenkiron, who saw it all, for he went withthem and got the tip of an ear picked off by a machine-gun bullet, hadn't any words wherewith to speak of it. 'And I once said those boyslooked puffy, ' he moaned. 

The next phase, which came about midday, was the tanks. I had neverseen the German variety, but had heard that it was speedier and heavierthan ours, but unwieldy. We did not see much of their speed, but wefound out all about their clumsiness. Had the things been properlyhandled they should have gone through us like rotten wood. But thewhole outfit was bungled. It looked good enough country for the use ofthem, but the men who made our position had had an eye to thispossibility. The great monsters, mounting a field-gun besides othercontrivances, wanted something like a highroad to be happy in. Theywere useless over anything like difficult ground. The ones that camedown the main road got on well enough at the start, but Blenkiron verysensibly had mined the highway, and we blew a hole like a diamond pit. One lay helpless at the foot of it, and we took the crew prisoner;another stuck its nose over and remained there till our field-guns gotthe range and knocked it silly. As for the rest--there is a marshylagoon called the Patte d'Oie beside the farm of Gavrelle, which runsall the way north to the river, though in most places it only seemslike a soft patch in the meadows. This the tanks had to cross to reachour line, and they never made it. Most got bogged, and made prettytargets for our gunners; one or two returned; and one the Americans, creeping forward under cover of a little stream, blew up with a timefuse. 

By the middle of the afternoon I was feeling happier. I knew the bigattack was still to come, but I had my forward zone intact and I hopedfor the best. I remember I was talking to Wake, who had been goingbetween the two zones, when I got the first warning of a new andunexpected peril. A dud shell plumped down a few yards from me. 

'Those fools across the river are firing short and badly off thestraight, ' I said. 

Wake examined the shell. 'No, it's a German one, ' he said. 

Then came others, and there could be no mistake about thedirection--followed by a burst of machine-gun fire from the samequarter. We ran in cover to a point from which we could see the northbank of the river, and I got my glass on it. There was a lift of landfrom behind which the fire was coming. We looked at each other, and thesame conviction stood in both faces. The Boche had pushed down thenorthern bank, and we were no longer in line with our neighbours. Theenemy was in a situation to catch us with his fire on our flank andleft rear. We couldn't retire to conform, for to retire meant giving upour prepared position. 

It was the last straw to all our anxieties, and for a moment I was atthe end of my wits. I turned to Wake, and his calm eyes pulled metogether. 

'If they can't retake that ground, we're fairly carted, ' I said. 

'We are. Therefore they must retake it. '

'I must get on to Mitchinson. ' But as I spoke I realized the futilityof a telephone message to a man who was pretty hard up against ithimself. Only an urgent appeal could effect anything ... I must gomyself ... No, that was impossible. I must send Lefroy ... But hecouldn't be spared. And all my staff officers were up to their necks inthe battle. Besides, none of them knew the position as I knew it ... And how to get there? It was a long way round by the bridge at Loisy. 

Suddenly I was aware of Wake's voice. 'You had better send me, ' he wassaying. 'There's only one way--to swim the river a little lower down. '

'That's too damnably dangerous. I won't send any man to certain death. '

'But I volunteer, ' he said. 'That, I believe, is always allowed in war. '

'But you'll be killed before you can cross. '

'Send a man with me to watch. If I get over, you may be sure I'll getto General Mitchinson. If not, send somebody else by Loisy. There'sdesperate need for hurry, and you see yourself it's the only way. '

The time was past for argument. I scribbled a line to Mitchinson as hiscredentials. No more was needed, for Wake knew the position as well asI did. I sent an orderly to accompany him to his starting-place on thebank. 

'Goodbye, ' he said, as we shook hands. 'You'll see, I'll come back allright. ' His face, I remember, looked singularly happy. Five minuteslater the Boche guns opened for the final attack. 

I believe I kept a cool head; at least so Lefroy and the othersreported. They said I went about all afternoon grinning as if I likedit, and that I never raised my voice once. (It's rather a fault of minethat I bellow in a scrap. ) But I know I was feeling anything but calm, for the problem was ghastly. It all depended on Wake and Mitchinson. The flanking fire was so bad that I had to give up the left of theforward zone, which caught it fairly, and retire the men there to thebattle-zone. The latter was better protected, for between it and theriver was a small wood and the bank rose into a bluff which slopedinwards towards us. This withdrawal meant a switch, and a switch isn'ta pretty thing when it has to be improvised in the middle of a battle. 

The Boche had counted on that flanking fire. His plan was to break ourtwo wings--the old Boche plan which crops up in every fight. He leftour centre at first pretty well alone, and thrust along the river bankand to the wood of La Bruyere, where we linked up with the division onour right. Lefroy was in the first area, and Masterton in the second, and for three hours it was as desperate a business as I have ever faced... The improvised switch went, and more and more of the forward zonedisappeared. It was a hot, clear spring afternoon, and in the openfighting the enemy came on like troops at manoeuvres. On the left theygot into the battle-zone, and I can see yet Lefroy's great figureleading a counter-attack in person, his face all puddled with bloodfrom a scalp wound ... 

I would have given my soul to be in two places at once, but I had torisk our left and keep close to Masterton, who needed me most. The woodof La Bruyere was the maddest sight. Again and again the Boche wasalmost through it. You never knew where he was, and most of thefighting there was duels between machine-gun parties. Some of the enemygot round behind us, and only a fine performance of a company ofCheshires saved a complete breakthrough. 

As for Lefroy, I don't know how he stuck it out, and he doesn't knowhimself, for he was galled all the time by that accursed flanking fire. I got a note about half past four saying that Wake had crossed theriver, but it was some weary hours after that before the fireslackened. I tore back and forward between my wings, and every time Iwent north I expected to find that Lefroy had broken. But by somemiracle he held. The Boches were in his battle-zone time and again, buthe always flung them out. I have a recollection of Blenkiron, starkmad, encouraging his Americans with strange tongues. Once as I passedhim I saw that he had his left arm tied up. His blackened face grinnedat me. 'This bit of landscape's mighty unsafe for democracy, ' hecroaked. 'For the love of Mike get your guns on to those devils acrossthe river. They're plaguing my boys too bad. '

It was about seven o'clock, I think, when the flanking fire slackedoff, but it was not because of our divisional guns. There was a shortand very furious burst of artillery fire on the north bank, and I knewit was British. Then things began to happen. One of our planes--theyhad been marvels all day, swinging down like hawks for machine-gunbouts with the Boche infantry--reported that Mitchinson was attackinghard and getting on well. That eased my mind, and I started off forMasterton, who was in greater straits than ever, for the enemy seemedto be weakening on the river bank and putting his main strength inagainst our right ... But my G. S. O. 2 stopped me on the road. 'Wake, ' hesaid. 'He wants to see you. '

'Not now, ' I cried. 

'He can't live many minutes. '

I turned and followed him to the ruinous cowshed which was mydivisional headquarters. Wake, as I heard later, had swum the riveropposite to Mitchinson's right, and reached the other shore safely, though the current was whipped with bullets. But he had scarcely landedbefore he was badly hit by shrapnel in the groin. Walking at first withsupport and then carried on a stretcher, he managed to struggle on tothe divisional headquarters, where he gave my message and explained thesituation. He would not let his wound be looked to till his job wasdone. Mitchinson told me afterwards that with a face grey from pain hedrew for him a sketch of our position and told him exactly how near wewere to our end ... After that he asked to be sent back to me, and theygot him down to Loisy in a crowded ambulance, and then up to us in areturning empty. The M. O. Who looked at his wound saw that the thingwas hopeless, and did not expect him to live beyond Loisy. He wasbleeding internally and no surgeon on earth could have saved him. 

When he reached us he was almost pulseless, but he recovered for amoment and asked for me. 

I found him, with blue lips and a face drained of blood, lying on mycamp bed. His voice was very small and far away. 

'How goes it?' he asked. 

'Please God, we'll pull through ... Thanks to you, old man. '

'Good, ' he said and his eyes shut. 

He opened them once again. 

'Funny thing life. A year ago I was preaching peace ... I'm stillpreaching it ... I'm not sorry. '

I held his hand till two minutes later he died. 

 * * * * *

In the press of a fight one scarcely realizes death, even the death ofa friend. It was up to me to make good my assurance to Wake, andpresently I was off to Masterton. There in that shambles of La Bruyere, while the light faded, there was a desperate and most bloody struggle. It was the last lap of the contest. Twelve hours now, I kept tellingmyself, and the French will be here and we'll have done our task. Alas!how many of us would go back to rest? ... Hardly able to totter, ourcounter-attacking companies went in again. They had gone far beyond thelimits of mortal endurance, but the human spirit can defy all naturallaws. The balance trembled, hung, and then dropped the right way. Theenemy impetus weakened, stopped, and the ebb began. 

I wanted to complete the job. Our artillery put up a sharp barrage, andthe little I had left comparatively fresh I sent in for acounter-stroke. Most of the men were untrained, but there was that inour ranks which dispensed with training, and we had caught the enemy atthe moment of lowest vitality. We pushed him out of La Bruyere, wepushed him back to our old forward zone, we pushed him out of that zoneto the position from which he had begun the day. 

But there was no rest for the weary. We had lost at least a third ofour strength, and we had to man the same long line. We consolidated itas best we could, started to replace the wiring that had beendestroyed, found touch with the division on our right, and establishedoutposts. Then, after a conference with my brigadiers, I went back tomy headquarters, too tired to feel either satisfaction or anxiety. Ineight hours the French would be here. The words made a kind of litanyin my ears. 

In the cowshed where Wake had lain, two figures awaited me. Thetalc-enclosed candle revealed Hamilton and Amos, dirty beyond words, smoke-blackened, blood-stained, and intricately bandaged. They stoodstiffly to attention. 

'Sirr, the prisoner, ' said Hamilton. 'I have to report that theprisoner is deid. '

I stared at them, for I had forgotten Ivery. He seemed a creature of aworld that had passed away. 

'Sirr, it was like this. Ever sin' this mornin', the prisoner seemed towake up. Ye'll mind that he was in a kind of dream all week. But he gotsome new notion in his heid, and when the battle began he exheebitedsigns of restlessness. Whiles he wad lie doun in the trench, and whileshe was wantin' back to the dug-out. Accordin' to instructions Iprovided him wi' a rifle, but he didna seem to ken how to handle it. Itwas your orders, sirr, that he was to have means to defend hisself ifthe enemy cam on, so Amos gie'd him a trench knife. But verra soon helooked as if he was ettlin' to cut his throat, so I deprived him of it. '

Hamilton stopped for breath. He spoke as if he were reciting a lesson, with no stops between the sentences. 

'I jaloused, sirr, that he wadna last oot the day, and Amos here was ofthe same opinion. The end came at twenty minutes past three--I ken thetime, for I had just compared my watch with Amos. Ye'll mind that theGairmans were beginning a big attack. We were in the front trench ofwhat they ca' the battle-zone, and Amos and me was keepin' oor eyes onthe enemy, who could be obsairved dribblin' ower the open. Just thenthe prisoner catches sight of the enemy and jumps up on the top. Amostried to hold him, but he kicked him in the face. The next we kenned hewas runnin' verra fast towards the enemy, holdin' his hands ower hisheid and crying out loud in a foreign langwidge. '

'It was German, ' said the scholarly Amos through his broken teeth. 

'It was Gairman, ' continued Hamilton. 'It seemed as if he was appealin'to the enemy to help him. But they paid no attention, and he cam underthe fire of their machine-guns. We watched him spin round like ateetotum and kenned that he was bye with it. '

'You are sure he was killed?' I asked. 

'Yes, sirr. When we counter-attacked we fund his body. '

 * * * * *

There is a grave close by the farm of Gavrelle, and a wooden cross atits head bears the name of the Graf von Schwabing and the date of hisdeath. The Germans took Gavrelle a little later. I am glad to thinkthat they read that inscription. 

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

The Summons Comes for Mr Standfast

I slept for one and three-quarter hours that night, and when I awoke Iseemed to emerge from deeps of slumber which had lasted for days. Thathappens sometimes after heavy fatigue and great mental strain. Even ashort sleep sets up a barrier between past and present which has to beelaborately broken down before you can link on with what has happenedbefore. As my wits groped at the job some drops of rain splashed on myface through the broken roof. That hurried me out-of-doors. It was justafter dawn and the sky was piled with thick clouds, while a wet windblew up from the southwest. The long-prayed-for break in the weatherseemed to have come at last. A deluge of rain was what I wanted, something to soak the earth and turn the roads into water-courses andclog the enemy transport, something above all to blind the enemy's eyes... For I remembered what a preposterous bluff it all had been, andwhat a piteous broken handful stood between the Germans and their goal. If they knew, if they only knew, they would brush us aside like flies. 

As I shaved I looked back on the events of yesterday as on somethingthat had happened long ago. I seemed to judge them impersonally, and Iconcluded that it had been a pretty good fight. A scratch force, halfof it dog-tired and half of it untrained, had held up at least a coupleof fresh divisions ... But we couldn't do it again, and there werestill some hours before us of desperate peril. When had the Corps saidthat the French would arrive? ... I was on the point of shouting forHamilton to get Wake to ring up Corps Headquarters, when I rememberedthat Wake was dead. I had liked him and greatly admired him, but therecollection gave me scarcely a pang. We were all dying, and he hadonly gone on a stage ahead. 

There was no morning strafe, such as had been our usual fortune in thepast week. I went out-of-doors and found a noiseless world under thelowering sky. The rain had stopped falling, the wind of dawn hadlessened, and I feared that the storm would be delayed. I wanted it atonce to help us through the next hours of tension. Was it in six hoursthat the French were coming? No, it must be four. It couldn't be morethan four, unless somebody had made an infernal muddle. I wondered whyeverything was so quiet. It would be breakfast time on both sides, butthere seemed no stir of man's presence in that ugly strip half a mileoff. Only far back in the German hinterland I seemed to hear the rumourof traffic. 

An unslept and unshaven figure stood beside me which revealed itself asArchie Roylance. 

'Been up all night, ' he said cheerfully, lighting a cigarette. 'No, Ihaven't had breakfast. The skipper thought we'd better get anotheranti-aircraft battery up this way, and I was superintendin' the job. He's afraid of the Hun gettin' over your lines and spying out thenakedness of the land. For, you know, we're uncommon naked, sir. Also, 'and Archie's face became grave, 'the Hun's pourin' divisions down onthis sector. As I judge, he's blowin' up for a thunderin' big drive onboth sides of the river. Our lads yesterday said all the country backof Peronne was lousy with new troops. And he's gettin' his big gunsforward, too. You haven't been troubled with them yet, but he has gotthe roads mended and the devil of a lot of new light railways, and anymoment we'll have the five-point-nines sayin' Good-mornin' ... PrayHeaven you get relieved in time, sir. I take it there's not much riskof another push this mornin'?'

'I don't think so. The Boche took a nasty knock yesterday, and he mustfancy we're pretty strong after that counter-attack. I don't thinkhe'll strike till he can work both sides of the river, and that'll taketime to prepare. That's what his fresh divisions are for ... Butremember, he can attack now, if he likes. If he knew how weak we werehe's strong enough to send us all to glory in the next three hours. It's just that knowledge that you fellows have got to prevent hisgetting. If a single Hun plane crosses our lines and returns, we'rewholly and utterly done. You've given us splendid help since the showbegan, Archie. For God's sake keep it up to the finish and put everymachine you can spare in this sector. '

'We're doin' our best, ' he said. 'We got some more fightin' scouts downfrom the north, and we're keepin' our eyes skinned. But you know aswell as I do, sir, that it's never an ab-so-lute certainty. If the Hunsent over a squadron we might beat 'em all down but one, and that onemight do the trick. It's a matter of luck. The Hun's got the wind upall right in the air just now and I don't blame the poor devil. I'minclined to think we haven't had the pick of his push here. Jenningssays he's doin' good work in Flanders, and they reckon there's thedeuce of a thrust comin' there pretty soon. I think we can manage thekind of footler he's been sendin' over here lately, but if Lensch orsome lad like that were to choose to turn up I wouldn't say what mighthappen. The air's a big lottery, ' and Archie turned a dirty faceskyward where two of our planes were moving very high towards the east. 

The mention of Lensch brought Peter to mind, and I asked if he had goneback. 

'He won't go, ' said Archie, 'and we haven't the heart to make him. He'svery happy, and plays about with the Gladas single-seater. He's alwaysspeakin' about you, sir, and it'd break his heart if we shifted him. '

I asked about his health, and was told that he didn't seem to have muchpain. 

'But he's a bit queer, ' and Archie shook a sage head. 'One of thereasons why he won't budge is because he says God has some work for himto do. He's quite serious about it, and ever since he got the notion hehas perked up amazin'. He's always askin' about Lensch, too--notvindictive like, you understand, but quite friendly. Seems to take asort of proprietary interest in him. I told him Lensch had had a farlonger spell of first-class fightin' than anybody else and was bound bythe law of averages to be downed soon, and he was quite sad about it. '

I had no time to worry about Peter. Archie and I swallowed breakfastand I had a pow-wow with my brigadiers. By this time I had got throughto Corps H. Q. And got news of the French. It was worse than I expected. General Peguy would arrive about ten o'clock, but his men couldn't takeover till well after midday. The Corps gave me their whereabouts and Ifound it on the map. They had a long way to cover yet, and then therewould be the slow business of relieving. I looked at my watch. Therewere still six hours before us when the Boche might knock us to blazes, six hours of maddening anxiety ... Lefroy announced that all was quieton the front, and that the new wiring at the Bois de la Bruyere hadbeen completed. Patrols had reported that during the night a freshGerman division seemed to have relieved that which we had punished sostoutly yesterday. I asked him if he could stick it out against anotherattack. 'No, ' he said without hesitation. 'We're too few and too shakyon our pins to stand any more. I've only a man to every three yards. 'That impressed me, for Lefroy was usually the most devil-may-careoptimist. 

'Curse it, there's the sun, ' I heard Archie cry. It was true, for theclouds were rolling back and the centre of the heavens was a patch ofblue. The storm was coming--I could smell it in the air--but probablyit wouldn't break till the evening. Where, I wondered, would we be bythat time?

It was now nine o'clock, and I was keeping tight hold on myself, for Isaw that I was going to have hell for the next hours. I am a prettystolid fellow in some ways, but I have always found patience andstanding still the most difficult job to tackle, and my nerves were alltattered from the long strain of the retreat. I went up to the line andsaw the battalion commanders. Everything was unwholesomely quiet there. Then I came back to my headquarters to study the reports that werecoming in from the air patrols. They all said the same thing--abnormalactivity in the German back areas. Things seemed shaping for a new 21stof March, and, if our luck were out, my poor little remnant would haveto take the shock. I telephoned to the Corps and found them as nervousas me. I gave them the details of my strength and heard an agonizedwhistle at the other end of the line. I was rather glad I hadcompanions in the same purgatory. 

I found I couldn't sit still. If there had been any work to do I wouldhave buried myself in it, but there was none. Only this fearsome job ofwaiting. I hardly ever feel cold, but now my blood seemed to be gettingthin, and I astonished my staff by putting on a British warm andbuttoning up the collar. Round that derelict farm I ranged like ahungry wolf, cold at the feet, queasy in the stomach, and mortally edgyin the mind. 

Then suddenly the cloud lifted from me, and the blood seemed to runnaturally in my veins. I experienced the change of mood which a manfeels sometimes when his whole being is fined down and clarified bylong endurance. The fight of yesterday revealed itself as somethingrather splendid. What risks we had run and how gallantly we had metthem! My heart warmed as I thought of that old division of mine, thoseragged veterans that were never beaten as long as breath was left them. And the Americans and the boys from the machine-gun school and all theoddments we had commandeered! And old Blenkiron raging like agood-tempered lion! It was against reason that such fortitude shouldn'twin out. We had snarled round and bitten the Boche so badly that hewanted no more for a little. He would come again, but presently weshould be relieved and the gallant blue-coats, fresh as paint andburning for revenge, would be there to worry him. 

I had no new facts on which to base my optimism, only a changed pointof view. And with it came a recollection of other things. Wake's deathhad left me numb before, but now the thought of it gave me a sharppang. He was the first of our little confederacy to go. But what anending he had made, and how happy he had been in that mad time when hehad come down from his pedestal and become one of the crowd! He hadfound himself at the last, and who could grudge him such happiness? Ifthe best were to be taken, he would be chosen first, for he was a bigman, before whom I uncovered my head. The thought of him made me veryhumble. I had never had his troubles to face, but he had come cleanthrough them, and reached a courage which was for ever beyond me. Hewas the Faithful among us pilgrims, who had finished his journey beforethe rest. Mary had foreseen it. 'There is a price to be paid, ' she hadsaid--'the best of us. '

And at the thought of Mary a flight of warm and happy hopes seemed tosettle on my mind. I was looking again beyond the war to that peacewhich she and I would some day inherit. I had a vision of a greenEnglish landscape, with its far-flung scents of wood and meadow andgarden ... And that face of all my dreams, with the eyes so childlikeand brave and honest, as if they, too, saw beyond the dark to a radiantcountry. A line of an old song, which had been a favourite of myfather's, sang itself in my ears:

 _There's an eye that ever weeps and a fair face will be fain When I ride through Annan Water wi' my bonny bands again!_

We were standing by the crumbling rails of what had once been the farmsheepfold. I looked at Archie and he smiled back at me, for he saw thatmy face had changed. Then he turned his eyes to the billowing clouds. 

I felt my arm clutched. 

'Look there!' said a fierce voice, and his glasses were turned upward. 

I looked, and far up in the sky saw a thing like a wedge of wild geeseflying towards us from the enemy's country. I made out the small dotswhich composed it, and my glass told me they were planes. But onlyArchie's practised eye knew that they were enemy. 

'Boche?' I asked. 

'Boche, ' he said. 'My God, we're for it now. '

My heart had sunk like a stone, but I was fairly cool. I looked at mywatch and saw that it was ten minutes to eleven. 

'How many?'

'Five, ' said Archie. 'Or there may be six--not more. '

'Listen!' I said. 'Get on to your headquarters. Tell them that it's allup with us if a single plane gets back. Let them get well over theline, the deeper in the better, and tell them to send up every machinethey possess and down them all. Tell them it's life or death. Not onesingle plane goes back. Quick!'

Archie disappeared, and as he went our anti-aircraft guns broke out. The formation above opened and zigzagged, but they were too high to bein much danger. But they were not too high to see that which we mustkeep hidden or perish. 

The roar of our batteries died down as the invaders passed westward. AsI watched their progress they seemed to be dropping lower. Then theyrose again and a bank of cloud concealed them. 

I had a horrid certainty that they must beat us, that some at any ratewould get back. They had seen thin lines and the roads behind us emptyof supports. They would see, as they advanced, the blue columns of theFrench coming up from the south-west, and they would return and tellthe enemy that a blow now would open the road to Amiens and the sea. Hehad plenty of strength for it, and presently he would have overwhelmingstrength. It only needed a spear-point to burst the jerry-built dam andlet the flood through ... They would return in twenty minutes, and bynoon we would be broken. Unless--unless the miracle of miracleshappened, and they never returned. 

Archie reported that his skipper would do his damnedest and that ourmachines were now going up. 'We've a chance, sir, ' he said, 'a goodsportin' chance. ' It was a new Archie, with a hard voice, a lean face, and very old eyes. 

Behind the jagged walls of the farm buildings was a knoll which hadonce formed part of the high-road. I went up there alone, for I didn'twant anybody near me. I wanted a viewpoint, and I wanted quiet, for Ihad a grim time before me. From that knoll I had a big prospect ofcountry. I looked east to our lines on which an occasional shell wasfalling, and where I could hear the chatter of machine-guns. West therewas peace for the woods closed down on the landscape. Up to the north, I remember, there was a big glare as from a burning dump, and heavyguns seemed to be at work in the Ancre valley. Down in the south therewas the dull murmur of a great battle. But just around me, in the gap, the deadliest place of all, there was an odd quiet. I could pick outclearly the different sounds. Somebody down at the farm had made a jokeand there was a short burst of laughter. I envied the humorist hiscomposure. There was a clatter and jingle from a battery changingposition. On the road a tractor was jolting along--I could hear itsdriver shout and the screech of its unoiled axle. 

My eyes were glued to my glasses, but they shook in my hands so that Icould scarcely see. I bit my lip to steady myself, but they stillwavered. From time to time I glanced at my watch. Eight minutesgone--ten--seventeen. If only the planes would come into sight! Eventhe certainty of failure would be better than this harrowing doubt. They should be back by now unless they had swung north across thesalient, or unless the miracle of miracles--

Then came the distant yapping of an anti-aircraft gun, caught up thenext second by others, while smoke patches studded the distant bluesky. The clouds were banking in mid-heaven, but to the west there was abig clear space now woolly with shrapnel bursts. I counted themmechanically--one--three--five--nine--with despair beginning to takethe place of my anxiety. My hands were steady now, and through theglasses I saw the enemy. 

Five attenuated shapes rode high above the bombardment, now sharpagainst the blue, now lost in a film of vapour. They were coming back, serenely, contemptuously, having seen all they wanted. 

The quiet was gone now and the din was monstrous. Anti-aircraft guns, singly and in groups, were firing from every side. As I watched itseemed a futile waste of ammunition. The enemy didn't give a tinker'scurse for it ... But surely there was one down. I could only count fournow. No, there was the fifth coming out of a cloud. In ten minutes theywould be all over the line. I fairly stamped in my vexation. Those gunswere no more use than a sick headache. Oh, where in God's name were ourown planes?

At that moment they came, streaking down into sight, fourfighting-scouts with the sun glinting on their wings and burnishingtheir metal cowls. I saw clearly the rings of red, white, and blue. Before their downward drive the enemy instantly spread out. 

I was watching with bare eyes now, and I wanted companionship, for thetime of waiting was over. Automatically I must have run down the knoll, for the next I knew I was staring at the heavens with Archie by myside. The combatants seemed to couple instinctively. Diving, wheeling, climbing, a pair would drop out of the melee or disappear behind acloud. Even at that height I could hear the methodical rat-tat-tat ofthe machine-guns. Then there was a sudden flare and wisp of smoke. Aplane sank, turning and twisting, to earth. 

'Hun!' said Archie, who had his glasses on it. 

Almost immediately another followed. This time the pilot recoveredhimself, while still a thousand feet from the ground, and startedgliding for the enemy lines. Then he wavered, plunged sickeningly, andfell headlong into the wood behind La Bruyere. 

Farther east, almost over the front trenches, a two-seater Albatrossand a British pilot were having a desperate tussle. The bombardment hadstopped, and from where we stood every movement could be followed. First one, then another, climbed uppermost and dived back, swooped outand wheeled in again, so that the two planes seemed to clear each otheronly by inches. Then it looked as if they closed and interlocked. Iexpected to see both go crashing, when suddenly the wings of one seemedto shrivel up, and the machine dropped like a stone. 

'Hun, ' said Archie. 'That makes three. Oh, good lads! Good lads!'

Then I saw something which took away my breath. Sloping down in widecircles came a German machine, and, following, a little behind and alittle above, a British. It was the first surrender in mid-air I hadseen. In my amazement I watched the couple right down to the ground, till the enemy landed in a big meadow across the high-road and our ownman in a field nearer the river. 

When I looked back into the sky, it was bare. North, south, east, andwest, there was not a sign of aircraft, British or German. 

A violent trembling took me. Archie was sweeping the heavens with hisglasses and muttering to himself. Where was the fifth man? He must havefought his way through, and it was too late. 

But was it? From the toe of a great rolling cloud-bank a flame shotearthwards, followed by a V-shaped trail of smoke. British or Boche?British or Boche? I didn't wait long for an answer. For, riding overthe far end of the cloud, came two of our fighting scouts. 

I tried to be cool, and snapped my glasses into their case, though thereaction made me want to shout. Archie turned to me with a nervoussmile and a quivering mouth. 'I think we have won on the post, ' he said. 

He reached out a hand for mine, his eyes still on the sky, and I wasgrasping it when it was torn away. He was staring upwards with a whiteface. 

We were looking at the sixth enemy plane. 

It had been behind the others and much lower, and was making straightat a great speed for the east. The glasses showed me a different typeof machine--a big machine with short wings, which looked menacing as ahawk in a covey of grouse. It was under the cloud-bank, and above, satisfied, easing down after their fight, and unwitting of this enemy, rode the two British craft. 

A neighbouring anti-aircraft gun broke out into a sudden burst, and Ithanked Heaven for its inspiration. Curious as to this new development, the two British turned, caught sight of the Boche, and dived for him. 

What happened in the next minutes I cannot tell. The three seemed to bemixed up in a dog fight, so that I could not distinguish friend fromfoe. My hands no longer trembled; I was too desperate. The patter ofmachine-guns came down to us, and then one of the three broke clear andbegan to climb. The others strained to follow, but in a second he hadrisen beyond their fire, for he had easily the pace of them. Was it theHun?

Archie's dry lips were talking. 

'It's Lensch, ' he said. 

'How d'you know?' I gasped angrily. 

'Can't mistake him. Look at the way he slipped out as he banked. That'shis patent trick. '

In that agonizing moment hope died in me. I was perfectly calm now, forthe time for anxiety had gone. Farther and farther drifted the Britishpilots behind, while Lensch in the completeness of his triumph loopedmore than once as if to cry an insulting farewell. In less than threeminutes he would be safe inside his own lines, and he carried theknowledge which for us was death. 

 * * * * *

Someone was bawling in my ear, and pointing upward. It was Archie andhis face was wild. I looked and gasped--seized my glasses and lookedagain. 

A second before Lensch had been alone; now there were two machines. 

I heard Archie's voice. 'My God, it's the Gladas--the little Gladas. 'His fingers were digging into my arm and his face was against myshoulder. And then his excitement sobered into an awe which choked hisspeech, as he stammered--'It's old--'

But I did not need him to tell me the name, for I had divined it when Ifirst saw the new plane drop from the clouds. I had that queer sensethat comes sometimes to a man that a friend is present when he cannotsee him. Somewhere up in the void two heroes were fighting their lastbattle--and one of them had a crippled leg. 

I had never any doubt about the result, though Archie told me laterthat he went crazy with suspense. Lensch was not aware of his opponenttill he was almost upon him, and I wonder if by any freak of instincthe recognized his greatest antagonist. He never fired a shot, nor didPeter ... I saw the German twist and side-slip as if to baffle the fatedescending upon him. I saw Peter veer over vertically and I knew thatthe end had come. He was there to make certain of victory and he tookthe only way. The machines closed, there was a crash which I feltthough I could not hear it, and next second both were hurtling down, over and over, to the earth. 

They fell in the river just short of the enemy lines, but I did not seethem, for my eyes were blinded and I was on my knees. 

 * * * * *

After that it was all a dream. I found myself being embraced by aFrench General of Division, and saw the first companies of the cheerfulbluecoats whom I had longed for. With them came the rain, and it wasunder a weeping April sky that early in the night I marched what wasleft of my division away from the battle-field. The enemy guns werestarting to speak behind us, but I did not heed them. I knew that nowthere were warders at the gate, and I believed that by the grace of Godthat gate was barred for ever. 

 * * * * *

They took Peter from the wreckage with scarcely a scar except histwisted leg. Death had smoothed out some of the age in him, and lefthis face much as I remembered it long ago in the Mashonaland hills. Inhis pocket was his old battered _Pilgrim's Progress_. It lies before meas I write, and beside it--for I was his only legatee--the little casewhich came to him weeks later, containing the highest honour that canbe bestowed upon a soldier of Britain. 

It was from the _Pilgrim's Progress_ that I read next morning, when inthe lee of an apple-orchard Mary and Blenkiron and I stood in the softspring rain beside his grave. And what I read was the tale in the endnot of Mr Standfast, whom he had singled out for his counterpart, butof Mr Valiant-for-Truth whom he had not hoped to emulate. I set downthe words as a salute and a farewell:

 _Then said he, 'I am going to my Father's; and though with great difficulty I am got hither, yet now I do not repent me of all the trouble I have been at to arrive where I am. My sword I give to him that shall succeed me in my pilgrimage, and my courage and skill to him that can get it. My marks and scars I carry with me, to be a witness for me that I have fought His battles who now will be my rewarder. _'

 _So he passed over, and all the trumpets sounded for him on the other side. _