CHAPTER XII
HOW MR. McCUNN COMMITTED AN ASSAULT UPON AN ALLY
Dickson always maintained that his senses did not leave him for morethan a second or two, but he admitted that he did not remember veryclearly the events of the next few hours. He was conscious of a bad painabove his eyes, and something wet trickling down his cheek. There was aperpetual sound of water in his ears and of men's voices. He foundhimself dropped roughly on the ground and forced to walk, and was awarethat his legs were inclined to wobble. Somebody had a grip on each arm,so that he could not defend his face from the brambles, and that worriedhim, for his whole head seemed one aching bruise and he dreaded anythingtouching it. But all the time he did not open his mouth, for silence wasthe one duty that his muddled wits enforced. He felt that he was not themaster of his mind, and he dreaded what he might disclose if he began tobabble.
Presently there came a blank space of which he had no recollection atall. The movement had stopped, and he was allowed to sprawl on theground. He thought that his head had got another whack from a bough, andthat the pain put him into a stupor. When he awoke he was alone.
He discovered that he was strapped very tightly to a young Scotch fir.His arms were bent behind him and his wrists tied together with cordsknotted at the back of the tree; his legs were shackled, and furthercords fastened them to the bole. Also there was a halter round the trunkand just under his chin, so that while he breathed freely enough, hecould not move his head. Before him was a tangle of bracken and scrub,and beyond that the gloom of dense pines; but as he could only seedirectly in front his prospect was strictly circumscribed.
Very slowly he began to take his bearings. The pain in his head was nowdulled and quite bearable, and the flow of blood had stopped, for hefelt the incrustation of it beginning on his cheeks. There was atremendous noise all around him, and he traced this to the swaying oftree-tops in the gale. But there was an undercurrent of deepersound--water surely, water churning among rocks. It was a stream--theGarple of course--and then he remembered where he was and what hadhappened.
I do not wish to portray Dickson as a hero, for nothing would annoy himmore; but I am bound to say that his first clear thought was not of hisown danger. It was intense exasperation at the miscarriage of his plans.Long ago he should have been with Dougal arranging operations, givinghim news of Sir Archie, finding out how Heritage was faring, decidinghow to use the coming reinforcements. Instead he was trussed up in awood, a prisoner of the enemy, and utterly useless to his side. Hetugged at his bonds, and nearly throttled himself. But they were ofgood tarry cord and did not give a fraction of an inch. Tears of bitterrage filled his eyes and made furrows on his encrusted cheeks. Idiotthat he had been, he had wrecked everything! What would Saskia andDougal and Sir Archie do without a business man by their side? Therewould be a muddle, and the little party would walk into a trap. He sawit all very clearly. The men from the sea would overpower them, therewould be murder done, and an easy capture of the Princess; and thepolice would turn up at long last to find an empty headland.
He had also most comprehensively wrecked himself, and at the thought themost genuine panic seized him. There was no earthly chance of escape,for he was tucked away in this infernal jungle till such time as hisenemies had time to deal with him. As to what that dealing would be likehe had no doubts, for they knew that he had been their chief opponent.Those desperate ruffians would not scruple to put an end to him. Hismind dwelt with horrible fascination upon throat-cutting, no doubtbecause of the presence of the cord below his chin. He had heard it wasnot a painful death; at any rate he remembered a clerk he had once had,a feeble, timid creature, who had twice attempted suicide that way.Surely it could not be very bad, and it would soon be over.
But another thought came to him. They would carry him off in the shipand settle with him at their leisure. No swift merciful death for him.He had read dreadful tales of the Bolsheviks' skill in torture, and nowthey all came back to him--stories of Chinese mercenaries, and menburied alive, and death by agonising inches. He felt suddenly very coldand sick, and hung in his bonds for he had no strength in his limbs.Then the pressure on his throat braced him, and also quickened his numbmind. The liveliest terror ran like quicksilver through his veins.
He endured some moments of this anguish, till after many despairingclutches at his wits he managed to attain a measure of self-control. Hecertainly wasn't going to allow himself to become mad. Death was deathwhatever form it took, and he had to face death as many better men haddone before him. He had often thought about it and wondered how heshould behave if the thing came to him. Respectably, he had hoped;heroically, he had sworn in his moments of confidence. But he had neverfor an instant dreamed of this cold, lonely, dreadful business. LastSunday, he remembered, he had been basking in the afternoon sun in hislittle garden and reading about the end of Fergus MacIvor in _Waverley_and thrilling to the romance of it; and then Tibby had come out andsummoned him in to tea. Then he had rather wanted to be a Jacobite inthe '45 and in peril of his neck, and now Providence had taken him mostterribly at his word.
A week ago----! He groaned at the remembrance of that sunny garden. Inseven days he had found a new world and tried a new life, and had comenow to the end of it. He did not want to die, less now than ever withsuch wide horizons opening before him. But that was the worst of it, hereflected, for to have a great life great hazards must be taken, andthere was always the risk of this sudden extinguisher.... Had he tochoose again, far better the smooth sheltered bypath than this accursedromantic highway on to which he had blundered.... No, by Heaven, no!Confound it, if he had to choose he would do it all again. Somethingstiff and indomitable in his soul was bracing him to a manlier humour.There was no one to see the figure strapped to the fir, but had therebeen a witness he would have noted that at this stage Dickson shut histeeth and that his troubled eyes looked very steadily before him.
His business, he felt, was to keep from thinking, for if he thought atall there would be a flow of memories, of his wife, his home, his books,his friends, to unman him. So he steeled himself to blankness, like asleepless man imagining white sheep in a gate.... He noted a robin belowthe hazels, strutting impudently. And there was a tit on a brackenfrond, which made the thing sway like one of the see-saws he used toplay with as a boy. There was no wind in that undergrowth, and anymovement must be due to bird or beast. The tit flew off, and theoscillations of the bracken slowly died away. Then they began again, butmore violently, and Dickson could not see the bird that caused them. Itmust be something down at the roots of the covert, a rabbit, perhaps, ora fox, or a weasel.
He watched for the first sign of the beast, and thought he caught aglimpse of tawny fur. Yes, there it was--pale dirty yellow, a weaselclearly. Then suddenly the patch grew larger, and to his amazement helooked at a human face--the face of a pallid small boy.
A head disentangled itself, followed by thin shoulders, and then by apair of very dirty bare legs. The figure raised itself and lookedsharply round to make certain that the coast was clear. Then it stood upand saluted, revealing the well-known lineaments of Wee Jaikie.
At the sight Dickson knew that he was safe by that certainty of instinctwhich is independent of proof, like the man who prays for a sign and hashis prayer answered. He observed that the boy was quietly sobbing.Jaikie surveyed the position for an instant with red-rimmed eyes andthen unclasped a knife, feeling the edge of the blade on his thumb. Hedarted behind the fir, and a second later Dickson's wrists were free.Then he sawed at the legs, and cut the shackles which tied themtogether, and then--most circumspectly--assaulted the cord which boundDickson's neck to the trunk. There now remained only the two bonds whichfastened the legs and the body to the tree.
There was a sound in the wood different from the wind and stream. Jaikielistened like a startled hind.
"They're comin' back," he gasped. "Just you bide where ye are and let onye're still tied up."
He disappeared in the scrub as inconspicuously as a rat, wh
ile two ofthe tinklers came up the slope from the waterside. Dickson in a fever ofimpatience cursed Wee Jaikie for not cutting his remaining bonds so thathe could at least have made a dash for freedom. And then he realisedthat the boy had been right. Feeble and cramped as he was, he would havestood no chance in a race.
One of the tinklers was the man called Ecky. He had been running hard,and was mopping his brow.
"Hob's seen the brig," he said. "It's droppin' anchor ayont the Dookitswhaur there's a beild frae the wund and deep water. They'll be landit inhalf an 'oor. Awa' you up to the Hoose and tell Dobson, and me and Simand Hob will meet the boats at the Garplefit."
The other cast a glance towards Dickson.
"What about him?" he asked.
The two scrutinised their prisoner from a distance of a few paces.Dickson, well aware of his peril, held himself as stiff as if every bondhad been in place. The thought flashed on him that if he were tooimmobile they might think he was dying or dead, and come close toexamine him. If they only kept their distance, the dusk of the woodwould prevent them detecting Jaikie's handiwork.
"What'll you take to let me go?" he asked plaintively.
"Naething that you could offer, my mannie," said Ecky.
"I'll give you a five-pound note apiece."
"Produce the siller," said the other.
"It's in my pocket."
"It's no' that. We riped your pooches lang syne."
"I'll take you to Glasgow with me and pay you there. Honour bright."
Ecky spat. "D'ye think we're gowks? Man, there's no siller ye could paywad mak' it worth our while to lowse ye. Bide quiet there and ye'll seesome queer things ere nicht. C'way, Davie."
The two set off at a good pace down the stream, while Dickson's pulsingheart returned to its normal rhythm. As the sound of their feet diedaway Wee Jaikie crawled out from cover, dry-eyed now and verybusiness-like. He slit the last thongs, and Dickson fell limply on hisface.
"Losh, laddie, I'm awful stiff," he groaned. "Now, listen. Away all yourpith to Dougal, and tell him that the brig's in and the men will belanding inside the hour. Tell him I'm coming as fast as my legs will letme. The Princess will likely be there already and Sir Archibald and hismen, but if they're no', tell Dougal they're coming. Haste you, Jaikie.And see here, I'll never forget what you've done for me the day. You'rea fine wee laddie!"
The obedient Die-Hard disappeared, and Dickson painfully and laboriouslyset himself to climb the slope. He decided that his quickest and safestroute lay by the highroad, and he had also some hopes of recovering hisbicycle. On examining his body he seemed to have sustained no very greatdamage, except a painful cramping of legs and arms and a certaindizziness in the head. His pockets had been thoroughly rifled, and hereflected with amusement that he, the well-to-do Mr. McCunn, did notpossess at the moment a single copper.
But his spirits were soaring, for somehow his escape had given him anassurance of ultimate success. Providence had directly interfered on hisbehalf by the hand of Wee Jaikie, and that surely meant that it wouldsee him through. But his chief emotion was an ardour of impatience toget to the scene of action. He must be at Dalquharter before the menfrom the sea; he must find Dougal and discover his dispositions.Heritage would be on guard in the Tower and in a very little the enemywould be round it. It would be just like the Princess to try and enterthere, but at all costs that must be hindered. She and Sir Archie mustnot be cornered in stone walls, but must keep their communications openand fall on the enemy's flank. Oh, if the police would only come intime, what a rounding-up of miscreants that day would see!
As the trees thinned on the brow of the slope and he saw the sky, herealised that the afternoon was far advanced. It must be well on forfive o'clock. The wind still blew furiously, and the oaks on the fringesof the wood were whipped like saplings. Ruefully he admitted that thegale would not defeat the enemy. If the brig found a sheltered anchorageon the south side of the headland beyond the Garple, it would be easyenough for boats to make the Garple mouth, though it might be adifficult job to get out again. The thought quickened his steps, and hecame out of cover on to the public road without a prior reconnaissance.
Just in front of him stood a motor-bicycle. Something had gone wrongwith it for its owner was tinkering at it, on the side farthest fromDickson. A wild hope seized him that this might be the vanguard of thepolice, and he went boldly towards it. The owner, who was kneeling,raised his face at the sound of footsteps and Dickson looked into hiseyes.
He recognised them only too well. They belonged to the man he had seenin the inn at Kirkmichael, the man whom Heritage had decided was anAustralian, but whom they now knew to be their arch-enemy--the mancalled Paul who had persecuted the Princess for years and whom alone ofall beings on earth she feared. He had been expected before, but hadarrived now in the nick of time while the brig was casting anchor.Saskia had said that he had a devil's brain, and Dickson, as he staredat him, saw a fiendish cleverness in his straight brows and aremorseless cruelty in his stiff jaw and his pale eyes.
He achieved the bravest act of his life. Shaky and dizzy as he was, withfreedom newly opened to him and the mental torments of his captivitystill an awful recollection, he did not hesitate. He saw before him thevillain of the drama, the one man that stood between the Princess andpeace of mind. He regarded no consequences, gave no heed to his ownfate, and thought only how to put his enemy out of action. There was abig spanner lying on the ground. He seized it and with all his strengthsmote at the man's face.
The motor-cyclist, kneeling and working hard at his machine, had raisedhis head at Dickson's approach and beheld a wild apparition--a short manin ragged tweeds, with a bloody brow and long smears of blood on hischeeks. The next second he observed the threat of attack, and ducked hishead so that the spanner only grazed his scalp. The motor-bicycletoppled over, its owner sprang to his feet, and found the short man,very pale and gasping, about to renew the assault. In such a crisisthere was no time for inquiry, and the cyclist was well trained inself-defence. He leaped the prostrate bicycle, and before his assailantcould get in a blow brought his left fist into violent contact with hischin. Dickson tottered back a step or two and then subsided among thebracken.
He did not lose his senses, but he had no more strength in him. He felthorribly ill, and struggled in vain to get up. The cyclist, a giganticfigure, towered above him. "Who the devil are you?" he was asking. "Whatdo you mean by it?"
Dickson had no breath for words, and knew that if he tried to speak hewould be very sick. He could only stare up like a dog at the angry eyes.Angry beyond question they were, but surely not malevolent. Indeed, asthey looked at the shameful figure on the ground, amusement filled them.The face relaxed into a smile.
"Who on earth are you?" the voice repeated. And then into it camerecognition. "I've seen you before. I believe you're the little man Isaw last week at the Black Bull. Be so good as to explain why you wantto murder me?"
Explanation was beyond Dickson, but his conviction was being wofullyshaken. Saskia had said her enemy was as beautiful as a devil--heremembered the phrase, for he had thought it ridiculous. This man wasmagnificent, but there was nothing devilish in his lean grave face.
"What's your name?" the voice was asking.
"Tell me yours first," Dickson essayed to stutter between spasms ofnausea.
"My name is Alexander Nicholson," was the answer.
"Then you're no' the man." It was a cry of wrath and despair.
"You're a very desperate little chap. For whom had I the honour to bemistaken?"
Dickson had now wriggled into a sitting position and had clasped hishands above his aching head.
"I thought you were a Russian, name of Paul," he groaned.
"Paul! Paul who?"
"Just Paul. A Bolshevik and an awful bad lot."
Dickson could not see the change which his words wrought in the other'sface. He found himself picked up in strong arms and carried to abog-pool where his battered face was carefully washed, h
is throbbingbrows laved, and a wet handkerchief bound over them. Then he was givenbrandy in the socket of a flask, which eased his nausea. The cyclist ranhis bicycle to the roadside, and found a seat for Dickson behind theturf-dyke of the old bucht.
"Now you are going to tell me everything," he said. "If the Paul who isyour enemy is the Paul I think him, then we are allies."
But Dickson did not need this assurance. His mind had suddenly receiveda revelation. The Princess had expected an enemy, but also a friend.Might not this be the long-awaited friend, for whose sake she was rootedto Huntingtower with all its terrors?
"Are you sure you name's no' Alexis?" he asked.
"In my own country I was called Alexis Nicolaevitch, for I am a Russian.But for some years I have made my home with your folk, and I call myselfAlexander Nicholson, which is the English form. Who told you aboutAlexis?"
"Give me your hand," said Dickson shamefacedly. "Man, she's been lookingfor you for weeks. You're terribly behind the fair."
"She!" he cried. "For God's sake tell me all you know."
"Ay, she--the Princess. But what are we havering here for? I tell you atthis moment she's somewhere down about the old Tower, and there'sboatloads of blagyirds landing from the sea. Help me up, man, for I mustbe off. The story will keep. Losh, it's very near the darkening. Ifyou're Alexis, you're just about in time for a battle."
But Dickson on his feet was but a frail creature. He was stilldeplorably giddy, and his legs showed an unpleasing tendency to crumple."I'm fair done," he moaned. "You see, I've been tied up all day to atree and had two sore bashes on my head. Get you on that bicycle andhurry on, and I'll hirple after you the best I can. I'll direct you theroad, and if you're lucky you'll find a Die-Hard about the village. Awaywith you, man, and never mind me."
"We go together," said the other quietly. "You can sit behind me andhang on to my waist. Before you turned up I had pretty well got thething in order."
Dickson in a fever of impatience sat by while the Russian put thefinishing touches to the machine, and as well as his anxiety allowed puthim in possession of the main facts of the story. He told of how he andHeritage had come to Dalquharter, of the first meeting with Saskia, ofthe trip to Glasgow with the jewels, of the exposure of Loudon thefactor, of last night's doings in the House, and of the journey thatmorning to the Mains of Garple. He sketched the figures on thescene--Heritage and Sir Archie, Dobson and his gang, the GorbalsDie-Hards. He told of the enemy's plans so far as he knew them.
"Looked at from a business point of view," he said, "the situation'slike this. There's Heritage in the Tower, with Dobson, Leon and Spidelsitting round him. Somewhere about the place there's the Princess andSir Archibald and three men with guns from the Mains. Dougal and hisfive laddies are running loose in the policies. And there's fourtinklers and God knows how many foreign ruffians pushing up from theGarplefoot, and a brig lying waiting to carry off the ladies. Likewisethere's the police, somewhere on the road, though the dear kens whenthey'll turn up. It's awful the incompetence of our Government, and therates and taxes that high!... And there's you and me by this roadside,and I'm no more use than a tattie-bogle.... That's the situation, andthe question is what's our plan to be? We must keep the blagyirds inplay till the police come, and at the same time we must keep thePrincess out of danger. That's why I'm wanting back, for they've soreneed of a business head. Yon Sir Archibald's a fine fellow, but I doubthe'll be a bit rash, and the Princess is no' to hold or bind. Our firstjob is to find Dougal and get a grip of the facts."
"I am going to the Princess," said the Russian.
"Ay, that'll be best. You'll be maybe able to manage her, for you'll bewell acquaint."
"She is my kinswoman. She is also my affianced wife."
"Keep us!" Dickson exclaimed, with a doleful thought of Heritage. "Whatailed you then no' to look after her better?"
"We have been long separated, because it was her will. She had work todo and disappeared from me, though I searched all Europe for her. Thenshe sent me word, when the danger became extreme, and summoned me to heraid. But she gave me poor directions, for she did not know her own plansvery clearly. She spoke of a place called Darkwater, and I have beenhunting half Scotland for it. It was only last night that I heard ofDalquharter and guessed that that might be the name. But I was far downin Galloway, and have ridden fifty miles to-day."
"It's a queer thing, but I wouldn't take you for a Russian."
Alexis finished his work and put away his tools. "For the present," hesaid, "I am an Englishman, till my country comes again to her senses.Ten years ago I left Russia, for I was sick of the foolishness of myclass and wanted a free life in a new world. I went to Australia andmade good as an engineer. I am a partner in a firm which is pretty wellknown even in Britain. When war broke out I returned to fight for mypeople, and when Russia fell out of the war, I joined the Australians inFrance and fought with them till the Armistice. And now I have only oneduty left, to save the Princess and take her with me to my new home tillRussia is a nation once more."
Dickson whistled joyfully. "So Mr. Heritage was right. He aye said youwere an Australian.... And you're a business man! That's grand hearingand puts my mind at rest. You must take charge of the party at theHouse, for Sir Archibald's a daft young lad and Mr. Heritage is a poet.I thought I would have to go myself, but I doubt I would just be ahindrance with my dwaibly legs. I'd be better outside, watching for thepolice.... Are you ready, sir?"
Dickson not without difficulty perched himself astride the luggagecarrier, firmly grasping the rider round the middle. The machinestarted, but it was evidently in a bad way, for it made poor going tillthe descent towards the main Auchenlochan road. On the slope it warmedup and they crossed the Garple bridge at a fair pace. There was to be nopleasant April twilight, for the stormy sky had already made dusk, andin a very little the dark would fall. So sombre was the evening thatDickson did not notice a figure in the shadow of the roadside pines tillit whistled shrilly on its fingers. He cried on Alexis to stop, and,this being accomplished with some suddenness, fell off at Dougal's feet.
"What's the news?" he demanded.
Dougal glanced at Alexis and seemed to approve his looks.
"Napoleon has just reported that three boatloads, making eithertwenty-three or twenty-four men--they were gey ill to count--has landedat Garplefit and is makin' their way to the auld Tower. The tinklerswarned Dobson and soon it'll be a' bye wi' Heritage."
"The Princess is not there?" was Dickson's anxious inquiry.
"Na, na. Heritage is there his lone. They were for joinin' him, but Iwouldn't let them. She came wi' a man they call Sir Erchibald and threegemkeepers wi' guns. I stoppit their cawr up the road and tell't themthe lie o' the land. Yon Sir Erchibald has poor notions o' strawtegy. Hewas for bangin' into the auld Tower straight away and shootin' Dobson ifhe tried to stop them. 'Havers,' say I, 'let them break their teeth onthe Tower, thinkin' the leddy's inside, and that'll give us time, forHeritage is no' the lad to surrender in a hurry.'"
"Where are they now?"
"In the Hoose o' Dalquharter, and a sore job I had gettin' them in.We've shifted our base again, without the enemy suspectin'."
"Any word of the police?"
"The polis!" and Dougal spat cynically. "It seems they're a dour crop toshift. Sir Erchibald was sayin' that him and the lassie had been to theChief Constable, but the man was terrible auld and slow. They convertithim, but he threepit that it would take a long time to collect his menand that there was no danger o' the brig landin' afore night. He's wrongthere onyway, for they're landit."
"Dougal," said Dickson, "you've heard the Princess speak of a friend shewas expecting here called Alexis. This is him. You can address him asMr. Nicholson. Just arrived in the nick of time. You must get him intothe House, for he's the best right to be beside the lady.... Jaikiewould tell you that I've been sore mishandled the day, and am no' veryfit for a battle. But Mr. Nicholson's a business man and he'll do aswell. You're keeping the Die-Ha
rds outside, I hope?"
"Ay. Thomas Yownie's in charge, and Jaikie will be in and out withorders. They've instructions to watch for the polis, and keep an eye onthe Garplefit. It's a mortal long front to hold, but there's no otherway. I must be in the Hoose mysel'. Thomas Yownie's headquarters is theauld wife's hen-hoose."
At that moment in a pause of the gale came the far-borne echo of a shot.
"Pistol," said Alexis.
"Heritage," said Dougal. "Trade will be gettin' brisk with him. Startyour machine and I'll hang on ahint. We'll try the road by the WestLodge."
Presently the pair disappeared in the dusk, the noise of the engine wasswallowed up in the wild orchestra of the wind, and Dickson hobbledtowards the village in a state of excitement which made him oblivious ofhis wounds. That lonely pistol shot was, he felt, the bell to ring upthe curtain on the last act of the play.