too began to
whistle. The tune was
infectious, for he followed my
suit. He was a huge man in untidy old
flannels and a wide-brimmed
hat, with a
canvas bag slung on his shoulder. He nodded to me,
and I thought I had never seen a shrewder or better-tempered face.
He leaned his
delicate ten-foot split-cane rod against the bridge,
and looked with me at the water.
'Clear, isn't it?' he said
pleasantly. 'I back our Kenner any day
against the Test. Look at that big fellow. Four pounds if he's an
ounce. But the evening rise is over and you can't tempt 'em.'
'I don't see him,' said I.
'Look! There! A yard from the reeds just above that stickle.'
'I've got him now. You might swear he was a black stone.'
'So,' he said, and
whistled another bar of 'Annie Laurie'.
'Twisdon's the name, isn't it?' he said over his shoulder, his eyes
still fixed on the
stream.
'No,' I said. 'I mean to say, Yes.' I had forgotten all about
my alias.
'It's a wise
conspirator that knows his own name,' he observed,
grinning
broadly at a moor-hen that emerged from the bridge's shadow.
I stood up and looked at him, at the square, cleft jaw and broad,
lined brow and the firm folds of cheek, and began to think that
here at last was an ally worth having. His whimsical blue eyes
seemed to go very deep.
Suddenly he frowned. 'I call it disgraceful,' he said, raising his
voice. 'Disgraceful that an able-bodied man like you should dare to
beg. You can get a meal from my kitchen, but you'll get no money
from me.'
A dog-cart was passing,
driven by a young man who raised his
whip to
salute the
fisherman. When he had gone, he picked up his rod.
'That's my house,' he said, pointing to a white gate a hundred
yards on. 'Wait five minutes and then go round to the back door.'
And with that he left me.
I did as I was bidden. I found a pretty
cottage with a lawn
running down to the
stream, and a perfect
jungle of guelder-rose
and lilac flanking the path. The back door stood open, and a grave
butler was awaiting me.
'Come this way, Sir,' he said, and he led me along a passage and
up a back
staircase to a pleasant bedroom looking towards the
river. There I found a complete
outfit laid out for me - dress
clothes with all the fixings, a brown
flannel suit, shirts, collars, ties,
shaving things and hair-brushes, even a pair of
patent shoes. 'Sir
Walter thought as how Mr Reggie's things would fit you, Sir,' said
the
butler. 'He keeps some clothes 'ere, for he comes regular on the
week-ends. There's a
bathroom next door, and I've prepared a 'ot
bath. Dinner in 'alf an hour, Sir. You'll 'ear the gong.'
The grave being
withdrew, and I sat down in a chintz-covered
easy-chair and gaped. It was like a pantomime, to come suddenly out
of beggardom into this
orderly comfort. Obviously Sir Walter
believed in me, though why he did I could not guess. I looked at
myself in the mirror and saw a wild,
haggard brown fellow, with a
fortnight's
ragged beard, and dust in ears and eyes, collarless,
vulgarly shirted, with
shapeless old tweed clothes and boots that
had not been cleaned for the better part of a month. I made a fine
tramp and a fair drover; and here I was ushered by a prim
butlerinto this
temple of
gracious ease. And the best of it was that they
did not even know my name.
I
resolved not to
puzzle my head but to take the gifts the gods
had provided. I shaved and bathed luxuriously, and got into the
dress clothes and clean crackling shirt, which fitted me not so
badly. By the time I had finished the looking-glass showed a not
unpersonable young man.
Sir Walter awaited me in a dusky dining-room where a little
round table was lit with silver candles. The sight of him - so
respectable and established and secure, the embodiment of law and
government and all the conventions - took me aback and made me
feel an interloper. He couldn't know the truth about me, or he
wouldn't treat me like this. I simply could not accept his hospitality
on false pretences.
'I'm more obliged to you than I can say, but I'm bound to make
things clear,' I said. 'I'm an
innocent man, but I'm wanted by the
police. I've got to tell you this, and I won't be surprised if you kick
me out.'
He smiled. 'That's all right. Don't let that
interfere with your
appetite. We can talk about these things after dinner.'
I never ate a meal with greater
relish, for I had had nothing all
day but railway sandwiches. Sir Walter did me proud, for we drank
a good
champagne and had some
uncommon fine port afterwards.
it made me almost
hysterical to be sitting there, waited on by a
footman and a sleek
butler, and remember that I had been living
for three weeks like a brigand, with every man's hand against me. I
told Sir Walter about tiger-fish in the Zambesi that bite off your
fingers if you give them a chance, and we discussed sport up and
down the globe, for he had hunted a bit in his day.
We went to his study for coffee, a jolly room full of books and
trophies and untidiness and comfort. I made up my mind that if
ever I got rid of this business and had a house of my own, I would
create just such a room. Then when the coffee-cups were cleared
away, and we had got our cigars
alight, my host swung his long
legs over the side of his chair and bade me get started with my yarn.
'I've obeyed Harry's instructions,' he said, 'and the bribe he
offered me was that you would tell me something to wake me up.
I'm ready, Mr Hannay.'
I noticed with a start that he called me by my proper name.
I began at the very
beginning. I told of my boredom in London,
and the night I had come back to find Scudder gibbering on my
doorstep. I told him all Scudder had told me about Karolides and
the Foreign Office
conference, and that made him purse his lips and grin.
Then I got to the murder, and he grew
solemn again. He heard
all about the milkman and my time in Galloway, and my deciphering
Scudder's notes at the inn.
'You've got them here?' he asked
sharply, and drew a long
breath when I whipped the little book from my pocket.
I said nothing of the
contents. Then I described my meeting
with Sir Harry, and the speeches at the hall. At that he laughed
uproariously.
'Harry talked dashed
nonsense, did he? I quite believe it. He's as
good a chap as ever breathed, but his idiot of an uncle has stuffed
his head with maggots. Go on, Mr Hannay.'
My day as roadman excited him a bit. He made me describe the
two fellows in the car very closely, and seemed to be raking back in
his memory. He grew merry again when he heard of the fate of that
ass jopley.
But the old man in the moorland house
solemnized him. Again I
had to describe every detail of his appearance.
'Bland and bald-headed and hooded his eyes like a bird ... He
sounds a
sinister wild-fowl! And you dynamited his hermitage,
after he had saved you from the police. Spirited piece of work, that!'
Presently I reached the end of my wanderings. He got up slowly,
and looked down at me from the hearth-rug.
'You may
dismiss the police from your mind,' he said. 'You're in
no danger from the law of this land.'
'Great Scot!' I cried. 'Have they got the murderer?'
'No. But for the last
fortnight they have dropped you from the
list of possibles.'
'Why?' I asked in amazement.
'Principally because I received a letter from Scudder. I knew
something of the man, and he did several jobs for me. He was half
crank, half
genius, but he was
wholly honest. The trouble about
him was his partiality for playing a lone hand. That made him
pretty well
useless in any Secret Service - a pity, for he had
uncommongifts. I think he was the bravest man in the world, for he was
always shivering with
fright, and yet nothing would choke him off.
I had a letter from him on the 31st of May.'
'But he had been dead a week by then.'
'The letter was written and posted on the 23rd. He
evidently did
not
anticipate an immediate
decease. His communications usually
took a week to reach me, for they were sent under cover to Spain
and then to Newcastle. He had a mania, you know, for concealing
his tracks.'
'What did he say?' I stammered.
'Nothing. Merely that he was in danger, but had found shelter
with a good friend, and that I would hear from him before the 15th
of June. He gave me no address, but said he was living near
Portland Place. I think his object was to clear you if anything
happened. When I got it I went to Scotland Yard, went over the
details of the inquest, and concluded that you were the friend. We
made inquiries about you, Mr Hannay, and found you were respectable.
I thought I knew the motives for your
disappearance - not
only the police, the other one too - and when I got Harry's scrawl I
guessed at the rest. I have been expecting you any time this past week.'
You can imagine what a load this took off my mind. I felt a free
man once more, for I was now up against my country's enemies
only, and not my country's law.
'Now let us have the little note-book,' said Sir Walter.
It took us a good hour to work through it. I explained the
cypher, and he was jolly quick at picking it up. He emended my
reading of it on several points, but I had been fairly correct, on the
whole. His face was very grave before he had finished, and he sat
silent for a while.
'I don't know what to make of it,' he said at last. 'He is right
about one thing - what is going to happen the day after tomorrow.
How the devil can it have got known? That is ugly enough in itself.
But all this about war and the Black Stone - it reads like some wild
melodrama. If only I had more confidence in Scudder's judgement.
The trouble about him was that he was too
romantic. He had the
artistic
temperament, and wanted a story to be better than God
meant it to be. He had a lot of odd biases, too. Jews, for example,
made him see red. Jews and the high finance.
'The Black Stone,' he
repeated. 'DER SCHWARZE STEIN. It's like a
penny novelette. And all this stuff about Karolides. That is the
weak part of the tale, for I happen to know that the virtuous
Karolides is likely to outlast us both. There is no State in Europe
that wants him gone. Besides, he has just been playing up to Berlin
and Vienna and giving my Chief some
uneasy moments. No! Scudder has
gone off the track there. Frankly, Hannay, I don't believe that part of
his story. There's some nasty business afoot, and he found out too much
and lost his life over it. But I am ready to take my oath that it is
ordinary spy work. A certain great European Power makes a hobby of her
spy
system, and her methods are not too particular. Since she pays by
piecework her blackguards are not likely to stick at a murder or two.
They want our naval dispositions for their
collection at the Marineamt;
but they will be pigeon-holed - nothing more.'
just then the
butler entered the room.
'There's a trunk-call from London, Sir Walter. It's Mr 'Eath, and
he wants to speak to you personally.'
My host went off to the telephone.
He returned in five minutes with a whitish face. 'I apologize to
the shade of Scudder,' he said. 'Karolides was shot dead this evening
at a few minutes after seven.'
CHAPTER EIGHT
The Coming of the Black Stone
I came down to breakfast next morning, after eight hours of blessed
dreamless sleep, to find Sir Walter decoding a
telegram in the midst
of muffins and marmalade. His fresh rosiness of
yesterday seemed a
thought tarnished.
'I had a busy hour on the telephone after you went to bed,' he
said. 'I got my Chief to speak to the First Lord and the Secretary
for War, and they are bringing Royer over a day sooner. This wire
clinches it. He will be in London at five. Odd that the code word
for a SOUS-CHEF D/ETAT MAJOR-GENERAL should be "Porker".'
He directed me to the hot dishes and went on.