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silly, he considered, these homilies of his must have been, mere twitterings
of the unfledged. But now he saw more in the lines, a deeper interpretation
which he had earned the right to make.
"Oh world, where all things change and nought abides, Oh life, the long
mutation--is it so?
Is it with life as with the body's change?--
Where, e'en tho' better follow, good must pass."
That was as far as he could get, though he cudgelled his memory to continue.
Moralizing thus, he became drowsy, and was almost asleep when the train drew
up at the station of Kirkmichael.
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CHAPTER VII
SUNDRY DOINGS IN THE MIRK
>From Kirkmichael on the train stopped at every station, but no passenger
seemed to leave or arrive at the little platforms white in the moon. At
Dalquharter the case of provisions was safely transferred to the porter with
instructions to take charge of it till it was sent for. During the next new
minutes Dickson's mind began to work upon his problem with a certain
briskness. It was all nonsense that the law of Scotland could not be summoned
to the defence. The jewels had been safely got rid of, and who was to dispute
their possession? Not Dobson and his crew, who had no sort of title, and were
out for naked robbery. The girl had spoken of greater dangers from new
enemies--kidnapping, perhaps. Well, that was felony, and the police must be
brought in. Probably if all were known the three watchers had criminal
records, pages long, filed at Scotland Yard. The man to deal with that side of
the business was Loudon the factor, and to him he was bound in the first
place. He had made a clear picture in his head of this Loudon--a derelict old
country writer, formal, pedantic, lazy, anxious only to get an unprofitable
business off his hands with the least possible trouble, never going near the
place himself, and ably supported in his lethargy by conceited Edinburgh
Writers to the Signet. "Sich notions of business!" he murmured. "I wonder that
there's a single county family in Scotland no' in the bankruptcy court!" It
was his mission to wake up Mr. James Loudon.
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Arrived at Auchenlochan he went first to the Salutation Hotel, a pretentious
place sacred to golfers. There he engaged a bedroom for the night and, having
certain scruples, paid for it in advance. He also had some sandwiches prepared
which he stowed in his pack, and filled his flask with whisky. "I'm going home
to Glasgow by the first train in the to-morrow," he told the landlady," and
now I've got to see a friend. I'll not be back till late." He was assured that
there would be no difficulty about his admittance at any hour, and directed
how to find Mr.
Loudon's dwelling.
It was an old house fronting direct on the street, with a fanlight above the
door and a neat brass plate bearing the legend "Mr. James Loudon, Writer." A
lane ran up one side leading apparently to a garden, for the moonlight showed
the dusk of trees. In front was the main street of Auchenlochan, now deserted
save for a single roysterer, and opposite stood the ancient town house, with
arches where the country folk came at the spring and autumn hiring fairs.
Dickson rang the antiquated bell, and was presently admitted to a dark hall
floored with oilcloth, where a single gas-jet showed that on one side was the
business office and on the other the living-rooms.
Mr. Loudon was at supper, he was told, and he sent in his card. Almost at once
the door at the end on the left side was flung open and a large figure
appeared flourishing a napkin. "Come in, sir, come in," it cried. "I've just
finished a bite of meat. Very glad to see you. Here, Maggie, what d'you mean
by keeping the gentleman standing in that outer darkness?"
The room into which Dickson was ushered was small and bright, with a red paper
on the walls, a fire burning, and a big oil lamp in the centre of a table.
Clearly Mr. Loudon had no wife, for it was a bachelor's den in every line of
it. A cloth was laid on a corner of the table, in which stood the remnants of
a meal. Mr. Loudon seemed to have been about to make a brew of punch, for a
kettle simmered by the fire, and lemons and sugar flanked a pot-bellied whisky
decanter of the type that used to be known as a "mason's mell."
The sight of the lawyer was a surprise to Dickson and dissipated his notions
of an aged and lethargic incompetent. Mr. Loudon was a strongly built man who
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could not be a year over fifty. He had a ruddy face, clean shaven except for a
grizzled moustache; his grizzled hair was thinning round the temples; but his
skin was unwrinkled and his eyes had all the vigour of youth. His tweed suit
was well cut, and the buff waistcoat with flaps and pockets and the plain
leather watchguard hinted at the sportsman, as did the half-dozen racing
prints on the wall. A pleasant high-coloured figure he made; his voice had the
frank ring due to much use out of doors; and his expression had the singular
candour which comes from grey eyes with large pupils and a narrow iris.
"Sit down, Mr. McCunn. Take the arm-chair by the fire. I've had a wire from
Glendonan and
Speirs about you. I was just going to have a glass of toddy--a grand thing for
these uncertain
April nights. You'll join me? No? Well, you'll smoke anyway. There's cigars at
your elbow.
Certainly, a pipe if you like. This is Liberty Hall."
Dickson found some difficulty in the part for which he had cast himself. He
had expected to condescend upon an elderly inept and give him sharp
instructions; instead he found himself faced with a jovial, virile figure
which certainly did not suggest incompetence. It has been mentioned already
that he had always great difficulty in looking any one in the face, and this
difficulty was intensified when he found himself confronted with bold and
candid eyes. He felt abashed and a little nervous.
"I've come to see you about Huntingtower House," he began.
"I know, so Glendonans informed me. Well, I'm very glad to hear it. The place
has been standing empty far too long, and that is worse for a new house than
an old house. There's not much money to spend on it either, unless we can make
sure of a good tenant. How did you hear about it?"
"I was taking a bit holiday and I spent a night at Dalquharter with an old
auntie of mine. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]