SIR EDWARD LEITHEN'S MYSTERIES - Complete Series. Buchan JohnЧитать онлайн книгу.
be. I want to be off, for I don’t like to stumble upon gentlefolks.”
She stood aside to let him pass, noting the ruin of his clothes, his dirty unshaven face, the shameless old hat that he raised to her. Then, melancholy and reflective, she returned to Junius. She could not give away one of her own class, so, when Junius asked her about the tramp, she only shrugged her white shoulders. “A miserable creature. I hope Angus wasn’t too rough with him. He looked as if a puff of wind would blow him to pieces.”
Ten minutes later Leithen, having unobtrusively climbed the park wall and so escaped the attention of Mactavish at the lodge, was trotting at a remarkable pace for a tramp down the road to the Larrig Bridge. Once on the Crask side, he stopped to reconnoitre. Crossby called softly to him from the covert, and with Crossby was Benjie.
“I’ve gotten the saumon,” said the latter, “and your rod and gaff too. Hae ye the bit you howkit out o’ the fush?”
Leithen produced his bloody handkerchief.
“Now for supper, Benjie, my lad,” he cried. “Come along Crossby, and we’ll drink the health of John Macnab.”
The journalist shook his head. “I’m off to finish my story. The triumphant return of Harald Blacktooth is going to convulse these islands to-morrow.”
VIII.
SIR ARCHIE IS INSTRUCTED
IN THE CONDUCT OF LIFE
Early next morning, when the great door of Strathlarrig House was opened, and the maids had begun their work, Oliphant, the butler—a stately man who had been trained in a ducal family—crossed the hall to reconnoitre the outer world. There he found an under-housemaid nursing a strange package which she averred she had found on the doorstep. It was some two feet long, swathed in brown paper, and attached to its string was a letter inscribed to Mr Junius Bandicott.
The parcel was clammy and Oliphant handled it gingerly. He cut the cord, disentangled the letter, and revealed an oblong of green rushes bound with string. The wrapping must have been insecure, for something forthwith slipped from the rushes and flopped on the marble floor, revealing to Oliphant’s disgusted eyes a small salmon, blue and stiff in death.
At that moment Junius, always an early bird, came whistling downstairs. So completely was he convinced of the inviolability of the Strathlarrig waters that the spectacle caused him no foreboding.
“What are you flinging fish about for, Oliphant?” he asked cheerfully.
The butler presented him with the envelope. He opened it and extracted a dirty half sheet of notepaper, on which was printed in capitals:
<ö class=“letter”>“WITH THE COMPLIMENTS OF JOHN MACNAB”
Amazement, chagrin, amusement followed each other on Junius’s open countenance. Then he picked up the fish and marched out-of-doors shouting “Angus” at the top of a notably powerful voice. The sound brought the scared face of Professor Babwater to his bedroom window.
Angus, who had been up since four, appeared from Lady Maisie’s Pool, where he had been contemplating the waters. His vigil had not improved his appearance or his temper, for his eye was red and choleric and his beard was wild as a mountain goat’s. He cast one look at the salmon, surmised the truth, and held up imploring hands to Heaven.
“John Macnab!” said Junius sternly. “What have you got to say to that.”
Angus had nothing audible to say. He was handling the fish with feverish hands and peering at its jaws, and presently under his fingers a segment fell out.
“That fush was cleekit,” observed Lennox, who had come up. “It was never catched with a flee.”
“Ye’re a leear,” Angus roared. “Just tak a look at the mouth of it. There’s the mark of the huke, ye gommeril. The fush was took wi’ a rod and line.”
“You may reckon it was,” observed Junius. “I trust John Macnab to abide by the rules of the game.”
Suddenly light seemed to break in on Angus’s soul. He bellowed for Jimsie, who was placidly making his way towards the group at the door, lighting his pipe as he went.
“Look at that, James Mackenzie. Aye, look at it. Feast your een on it. You wass tellin’ me there wass otters in the Larrig and I said there wass not. You wass tellin’ me there wass an otter had a fush last night at the Lang Whang. There’s your otter and be damned to ye!”
Jimsie, slow of comprehension, rubbed his eyes.
“Where wass you findin’ the fush? Aye, its the one I seen last night. That otter must be wrang in the heid.’
“It is not wrang in the heid. It’s you that are wrang in the heid, James Mackenzie. The otter is a ver-ra clever man, and its name will be John Macnab.” Slowly enlightenment dawned on Jimsie’s mind.
“He wass the tramp,” he ingeminated. “He wass the tramp.”
“And he’s still lockit up,” Angus cried joyfully. “Wait till I get my hands on him.” He was striding off for the garage when a word from Junius held him back.
“You won’t find him there. I gave orders last night to let him go. You know, Angus, you told me he was only a tramp that had been seen walking up the river.”
“We will catch him yet,” cried the vindictive head-keeper. “Get you on your bicycle, Jimsie, and away after him. He’ll be on the Muirtown road… There’s just the one road he can travel.”
“No, you don’t,” said Junius. “I don’t want him here. He has beaten us fairly in a match of wits, and the business is finished.”
“But the thing’s no possible,” Jimsie moaned. “The skeeliest fisher would not take a saumon in the Lang Whang with a flee…And I wasna away many meenutes…And the tramp was a poor shilpit body—not like a fisher or any kind of gentleman at all—at all…And he hadna a rod…The thing’s no possible.
“Well, who else could it be?”
“I think it was the Deevil.”
Jimsie, cross-examined, went over the details of his evening’s experience.
“The journalist may have been in league with him—or he may not,” Junius reflected. “Anyway, I’ll tackle Mr Crossby. I want to find out what I can about this remarkable sportsman.”
“You will not find out anything at all, at all,” said Angus morosely. “For I tell ye, sir, Jimsie is right in one thing—Macnab is not a man—he is the Deevil.”
“Then we needn’t be ashamed of being beat by him…Look here, you men. We’ve lost, but you’ve had an uncomfortable time these last twenty-four hours. And I’m going to give you what I promised you if we won out. I reckon the market price of salmon is not more than fifty cents a pound. Macnab has paid about thirty dollars a pound for this fish, so we’ve a fair margin on the deal.”
Mr Acheson Bandicott received the news with composure, if not with relief. Now he need no longer hold the correspondents at arm’s length but could summon them to his presence and enlarge on Harald Blacktooth. His father’s equanimity cast whatever balm was needed upon Junius’s wounded pride, and presently he saw nothing in the affair but comedy. His thoughts turned to Glenraden. It might be well for him to announce in person that the defences of Strathlarrig had failed.
On his way he called at the post-office where Agatha had told him that Crossby was lodging. He wanted a word with the journalist, who clearly must have been particeps criminis, and as he could offer as bribe the first full tale of Harald Blacktooth (to be unfolded before the other correspondents arrived for luncheon) he hoped to acquire a story in return. But, according to the post-mistress,