SIR EDWARD LEITHEN'S MYSTERIES - Complete Series. Buchan John

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      VII.

       THE OLD ETONIAN TRAMP

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      Sir Archie got himself into the somewhat ancient dress-coat which was the best he had at Crask, and about half-past seven started his Hispana (a car in which his friends would not venture with Archie as driver) down the long hill to the gates of Strathlarrig. He was aware that somewhere in the haugh above the bridge was Leithen, but the only figure visible was that of Jimsie, the Strathlarrig gillie, who was moodily prowling about the upper end. As he passed the Wood of Larrigmore Benjie’s old pony was grazing at tether, and the old cart rested on its shafts; the embers of a fire still glowed among the pine-needles, but there was no sign of Benjie. He was admitted after a parley by Mactavish the lodge-keeper, and when he reached the door of the house he observed a large limousine being driven off to the back premises by a very smart chauffeur. Only Haripol was likely to own such a car, and Sir Archie reflected with amusement that the host of John Macnab was about to attend a full conclave of the Enemy.

      The huge, ugly drawing-room looked almost beautiful in the yellow light of evening. A fire burned on the hearth after the fashion of Highland houses even in summer, and before it stood Mr Acheson Bandicott, with a small clean-shaven man, who was obviously the distinguished Professor in whose honour the feast was given, and Colonel Raden, a picturesque figure in kilt and velvet doublet, who seemed hard put to it to follow what was clearly a technical colloquy. Agatha and Junius were admiring the sunset in the west window, and Janet was talking to a blond young man who seemed possessed of a singularly penetrating voice.

      Sir Archie was unknown to most of the company, and when his name was announced everyone except the Professor turned towards him with a lively curiosity. Old Mr Bandicott was profuse in his welcome, Junius no less cordial, Colonel Raden approving, for indeed it was not in human nature to be cold towards so friendly a being as the Laird of Crask. Sir Archie was apologetic for his social misfeasances, congratulatory about Harald Blacktooth, eager to atone for the past by an exuberant neighbourliness. “Been havin’ a rotten time with the toothache,” he told his host. “I roost up alone in my little barrack and keep company with birds…Bit of a naturalist, you know…Yes, sir, quite fit again, but my leg will never be much to boast of.”

      Colonel Raden appraised the lean, athletic figure. “You’ve been our mystery man, Sir Archibald. I’m almost sorry to meet you, for we lose our chief topic of discussion. You’re fond of stalking, they tell me. When are you coming to kill a stag at Glenraden?”

      “When will you ask me?” Sir Archie laughed. “I’m still fairly good on the hill, but just now I’m sittin’ indoors all day tuggin’ at my hair and tryin’ to compose a speech.”

      Colonel Raden’s face asked for explanations.

      “Day after to-morrow in Muirtown. Big Unionist meetin’ and I’ve got to start the ball. It’s jolly hard to know what to talk about, for I’ve a pretty high average of ignorance about everything. But I’ve decided to have a shot at foreign policy. You see, Charles—” Sir Archie stopped in a fright. He had been within an ace of giving the show away.

      “Of course. ‘Pon my soul I had forgotten that you were our candidate. It’s an uphill fight I’m afraid. The people in these parts, sir, are the most obstinate reactionaries on the face of the globe; but they’ve been voting Liberal ever since the days of John Knox.”

      Mr Bandicott regarded Sir Archie with interest.

      “So you’re standing for Parliament,” he said. “Few things impress me more in Great Britain than the way young men take up public life as if it were the natural coping-stone to their education. We have no such tradition, and we feel the absence of it. Junius would as soon think of running for Congress as of keeping a faro-saloon. Now I wonder, Sir Archibald, what induced you to take this step?”

      But Sir Archie was gone, for he had seen the beckoning eyes of Janet Raden. That young woman, ever since she had heard that the Laird of Crask was coming to dinner, had looked forward to this occasion as her culminating triumph. He had been her confidant about the desperate John Macnab, and from her he must learn the tale of her victory. Her pleasure was increased by the consciousness that she was looking her best, for she know that her black gown was a good French model and well set off her delicate colouring. She looked with eyes of friendship on him as he limped across the room, and noted his lean distinction. No other country, she thought, produced this kind of slim, graceful, yet weathered and hard-bitten youth.

      “Do you know Mr Claybody?”

      Mr СКАЧАТЬ