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

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СКАЧАТЬ followed for the better part of an hour a drama of almost indecent sensation. Wattie and his stag were forgotten in watching the efforts of an eminent banker to play hare to the hounds of four gentlemen accustomed to labour rather with their hands than with their feet. It was the navvy whose post was almost directly opposite Janet and Archie who first caught sight of the figure on the hill-side. He blew a whistle and began to move uphill, evidently with the intention of cutting off the intruder’s retreat to the east and driving him towards Haripol. But the quarry showed no wish to go east, for it was towards Haripol that he seemed to be making, by a long slant down the slopes.

      “I’ve got Number Two,” Janet whispered. “There—above the patch of scrub—close to the three boulders…Oh, and there’s Number Three. Mr Palliser-Yeates is walking straight towards him. Do you think he sees him?”

      “Trust old John. He’s the wiliest of God’s creatures, and he hasn’t lost much pace since he played outside three-quarters for England. Wait till he starts to run.”

      But Mr Palliser-Yeates continued at a brisk walk apparently oblivious of his foes, who were whistling like curlews, till he was very near the embraces of Number Three. Then he went through a very creditable piece of acting. Suddenly he seemed to be stricken with terror, looked wildly around to all the points of the compass, noted his pursuer, and, as if in a panic, ran blindly for the gap between Numbers Two and Three. Number Four had appeared by this time, and Number Four was a strategist. He did not join in the pursuit, but moved rapidly down the glen towards Haripol to cut off the fugitive, should he outstrip the hunters.

      Palliser-Yeates managed to get through the gap, and now appeared running strongly for the Doran, which at that point of its course—about half a mile down-stream from Janet and Archie—flowed in a deep-cut but not precipitous channel, much choked with birch and rowan. Numbers Two and three followed, and also Number One, who had by now seen that there was no need of a rearguard. For a little all four disappeared from sight, and Janet and Archie looked anxiously at each other. Cries, excited cries, were coming up-stream, but there was no sign of human beings.

      “John can’t have been such a fool as to get caught,” Archie grumbled. “He has easily the pace of those heavy-footed chaps. Wish he’d show himself.”

      Presently first one, then a second, then a third navvy appeared on the high bank of the Doran, moving aimlessly, like hounds at fault.

      “They’ve lost him,” Archie cried. “Where d’you suppose the leery old bird has got to? He can’t have gone to earth.”

      That was not revealed for about twenty minutes. Then a cry from one of the navvies called the attention of the others to something moving high up on the hill-side.

      “It’s John,” Archie muttered. “He must have crawled up one of the side-burns. Lord, that’s pretty work.”

      The navvies began heavily to follow, though they had a thousand feet of lee-way to make up. But it was no part of Palliser-Yeates’s plan to discourage them, since he had to draw them clean away from the danger zone. Already this was almost achieved, for Wattie and his stag, even if he had left the ravine, were completely hidden from their view by a shoulder of hill. He pretended to be labouring hard, stumbling often, and now and then throwing himself on the heather in an attitude of utter fatigue, which was visible to the pursuit below.

      “It’s a dashed shame,” murmured Archie. “Those poor fellows haven’t a chance with John. I only hope Claybody is payin’ them well for this job.”

      The hare let the hounds get within a hundred yards of him. Then he appeared to realise their presence and to struggle to increase his pace, but, instead of ascending, he moved horizontally along the slope, slipping and sprawling in what looked like a desperate final effort. Hopes revived in the navvies’ hearts. Their voices could be heard—“You bet they’re usin’ shockin’ language,” said Archie—and Number One, who seemed the freshest, put on a creditable spurt. Palliser-Yeates waited till the man was almost upon him, and then suddenly turned downhill. He ran straight for Number Two, dodged him with that famous swerve which long ago on the football field had set forty thousand people shouting, and went down the hill like a rolling stone. Once past the navvy line, he seemed to slide a dozen yards and roll over, and when he got up he limped.

      “Oh, he has hurt himself,” Janet cried.

      “Not a bit of it,” said Archie. “It’s the old fox’s cunning. He’s simply playin’ with the poor fellows. Oh, it’s wicked!”

      The navvies followed with difficulty, for they had no gift of speed on a steep hill-face. Palliser-Yeates waited again till they were very near him, and then, like a hen partridge dragging its wing, trotted down the more level ground by the stream side. The pursuit was badly cooked, but it lumbered gallantly along, Number Four now making the running. A quarter of a mile ahead was the beginning of the big Haripol woods which clothed the western skirts of Stob Ban, and stretched to the demesne itself.

      Suddenly Palliser-Yeates increased his pace, with no sign of a limp, and, when he passed out of sight of the two on the rock, was going strongly.

      Archie shut up his glass. “That’s a workmanlike show, if you like. He’ll tangle them up in the woods, and slip out at his leisure and come home. I knew old John was abso-lute-ly safe. If he doesn’t run slap into Macnicol—”

      He broke off and stared in front of him. A figure like some ancient earth-dweller had appeared on the opposite bank. Hair, face, and beard were grimed with peat, sweat made furrows in the grime, and two fierce eyes glowered under shaggy eyebrows. Bumping against its knees were the antlers of a noble stag.

      “Wattie,” the two exclaimed with one voice.

      “You old sportsman,” cried Archie. “Did you pull that great brute all the way yourself? Where is Lord Lamancha?”

      The stalker strode into the water dragging the stag behind him, and did not halt till he had it high on the bank and close to the car. Then he turned his eyes on the two, and wrung the moisture from his beard.

      “You needn’t worry,” Archie told him. “Mr Palliser-Yeates has all the navvies in the Haripol woods.”

      “So I was thinkin’. I got a glisk of him up the burn. Yon’s the soople one. But we’ve no time to loss. Help me to sling the beast into the cawr. This is a fine hidy-hole.”

      “Gad, what a stag!”

      “It’s the auld beast we’ve seen for the last five years. Ye mind me tellin’ ye that he was at our stacks last winter. Come on quick, for I’ll no be easy till he’s in the Crask larder.”

      “But Lord Lamancha?”

      “Never heed him. He’s somewhere up the hill. It maitters little if he waits till the darkenin’ afore he comes hame. The thing is we’ve got the stag. Are ye ready?”

      Archie started the car, which had already been turned in the right direction. Coats and wraps and heather were piled on the freight, and Wattie seated himself on it like an ancient raven.

      “Now, tak a spy afore ye start. Is the place clear?”

      Archie, from the rock, reported that the hill-side was empty.

      “What about the Beallach?”

      Archie spied long and carefully. “I see nothing there, but of course I only see the СКАЧАТЬ