The Collected Works of John Buchan (Illustrated). Buchan John

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СКАЧАТЬ through—that without me it would all go to blazes. I told myself it was sheer silly conceit, that four or five of the cleverest people living, with all the might of the British Empire at their back, had the job in hand. Yet I couldn’t be convinced. It seemed as if a voice kept speaking in my ear, telling me to be up and doing, or I would never sleep again.

      The upshot was that about half-past nine I made up my mind to go to Queen Anne’s Gate. Very likely I would not be admitted, but it would ease my conscience to try.

      I walked down Jermyn Street, and at the corner of Duke Street passed a group of young men. They were in evening dress, had been dining somewhere, and were going on to a music-hall. One of them was Mr Marmaduke Jopley.

      He saw me and stopped short.

      ‘By God, the murderer!’ he cried. ‘Here, you fellows, hold him! That’s Hannay, the man who did the Portland Place murder!’ He gripped me by the arm, and the others crowded round. I wasn’t looking for any trouble, but my ill-temper made me play the fool. A policeman came up, and I should have told him the truth, and, if he didn’t believe it, demanded to be taken to Scotland Yard, or for that matter to the nearest police station. But a delay at that moment seemed to me unendurable, and the sight of Marmie’s imbecile face was more than I could bear. I let out with my left, and had the satisfaction of seeing him measure his length in the gutter.

      Then began an unholy row. They were all on me at once, and the policeman took me in the rear. I got in one or two good blows, for I think, with fair play, I could have licked the lot of them, but the policeman pinned me behind, and one of them got his fingers on my throat.

      Through a black cloud of rage I heard the officer of the law asking what was the matter, and Marmie, between his broken teeth, declaring that I was Hannay the murderer.

      ‘Oh, damn it all,’ I cried, ‘make the fellow shut up. I advise you to leave me alone, constable. Scotland Yard knows all about me, and you’ll get a proper wigging if you interfere with me.’

      ‘You’ve got to come along of me, young man,’ said the policeman. ‘I saw you strike that gentleman crool ‘ard. You began it too, for he wasn’t doing nothing. I seen you. Best go quietly or I’ll have to fix you up.’

      Exasperation and an overwhelming sense that at no cost must I delay gave me the strength of a bull elephant. I fairly wrenched the constable off his feet, floored the man who was gripping my collar, and set off at my best pace down Duke Street. I heard a whistle being blown, and the rush of men behind me.

      I have a very fair turn of speed, and that night I had wings. In a jiffy I was in Pall Mall and had turned down towards St James’s Park. I dodged the policeman at the Palace gates, dived through a press of carriages at the entrance to the Mall, and was making for the bridge before my pursuers had crossed the roadway. In the open ways of the Park I put on a spurt. Happily there were few people about and no one tried to stop me. I was staking all on getting to Queen Anne’s Gate.

      When I entered that quiet thoroughfare it seemed deserted. Sir Walter’s house was in the narrow part, and outside it three or four motor-cars were drawn up. I slackened speed some yards off and walked briskly up to the door. If the butler refused me admission, or if he even delayed to open the door, I was done.

      He didn’t delay. I had scarcely rung before the door opened.

      ‘I must see Sir Walter,’ I panted. ‘My business is desperately important.’

      That butler was a great man. Without moving a muscle he held the door open, and then shut it behind me. ‘Sir Walter is engaged, Sir, and I have orders to admit no one. Perhaps you will wait.’

      The house was of the old-fashioned kind, with a wide hall and rooms on both sides of it. At the far end was an alcove with a telephone and a couple of chairs, and there the butler offered me a seat.

      ‘See here,’ I whispered. ‘There’s trouble about and I’m in it. But Sir Walter knows, and I’m working for him. If anyone comes and asks if I am here, tell him a lie.’

      He nodded, and presently there was a noise of voices in the street, and a furious ringing at the bell. I never admired a man more than that butler. He opened the door, and with a face like a graven image waited to be questioned. Then he gave them it. He told them whose house it was, and what his orders were, and simply froze them off the doorstep. I could see it all from my alcove, and it was better than any play.

      I hadn’t waited long till there came another ring at the bell. The butler made no bones about admitting this new visitor.

      While he was taking off his coat I saw who it was. You couldn’t open a newspaper or a magazine without seeing that face—the grey beard cut like a spade, the firm fighting mouth, the blunt square nose, and the keen blue eyes. I recognized the First Sea Lord, the man, they say, that made the new British Navy.

      He passed my alcove and was ushered into a room at the back of the hall. As the door opened I could hear the sound of low voices. It shut, and I was left alone again.

      For twenty minutes I sat there, wondering what I was to do next. I was still perfectly convinced that I was wanted, but when or how I had no notion. I kept looking at my watch, and as the time crept on to half-past ten I began to think that the conference must soon end. In a quarter of an hour Royer should be speeding along the road to Portsmouth…

      Then I heard a bell ring, and the butler appeared. The door of the back room opened, and the First Sea Lord came out. He walked past me, and in passing he glanced in my direction, and for a second we looked each other in the face.

      Only for a second, but it was enough to make my heart jump. I had never seen the great man before, and he had never seen me. But in that fraction of time something sprang into his eyes, and that something was recognition. You can’t mistake it. It is a flicker, a spark of light, a minute shade of difference which means one thing and one thing only. It came involuntarily, for in a moment it died, and he passed on. In a maze of wild fancies I heard the street door close behind him.

      I picked up the telephone book and looked up the number of his house. We were connected at once, and I heard a servant’s voice.

      ‘Is his Lordship at home?’ I asked.

      ‘His Lordship returned half an hour ago,’ said the voice, ‘and has gone to bed. He is not very well tonight. Will you leave a message, Sir?’

      I rang off and almost tumbled into a chair. My part in this business was not yet ended. It had been a close shave, but I had been in time.

      Not a moment could be lost, so I marched boldly to the door of that back room and entered without knocking.

      Five surprised faces looked up from a round table. There was Sir Walter, and Drew the War Minister, whom I knew from his photographs. There was a slim elderly man, who was probably Whittaker, the Admiralty official, and there was General Winstanley, conspicuous from the long scar on his forehead. Lastly, there was a short stout man with an iron-grey moustache and bushy eyebrows, who had been arrested in the middle of a sentence.

      Sir Walter’s face showed surprise and annoyance.

      ‘This is Mr Hannay, of whom I have spoken to you,’ he said apologetically to the company. ‘I’m afraid, Hannay, this visit is ill-timed.’

      I was getting back my coolness. ‘That remains to be seen, Sir,’ I said; ‘but I think it may be in the nick of time. For God’s sake, gentlemen, tell me who went СКАЧАТЬ