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

He’d have eaten it…Well, after that things settled down, and I was just goin’ to order tea, when it occurred to the daughter to ask what was wrong with my face. Then I had an inspiration.”

      Archie paused and smiled sourly.

      “I said I didn’t know, but I feared I might be sickenin’ for small-pox. I hinted that my face was a horrid sight under the bandage.”

      “Good for you, Archie,” said Lamancha. “What happened then?”

      “They bolted—fairly ran for it. They did record time into their car—scarcely stopped to say goodbye. I suppose you realise what I’ve done, you fellows. The natives here are scared to death of infectious diseases, and if we hadn’t our own people we wouldn’t have a servant left in the house. The story will be all over the country-side in two days, and my only fear is that it may bring some medical officer of health nosin’ round…Anyhow, it will choke off visitors.”

      “Archie, you’re a brick,” was Lamancha’s tribute.

      “I’m very much afraid I’m a fool, but thank Heaven I’m not the only one. Sime,” he shouted in a voice of thunder, “what’s happened to tea?”

      The shout brought the one-armed butler and Shapp with the apparatus of the meal, and an immense heap of letters all addressed to Sir Archibald Roylance.

      “Hullo! the mail has arrived,” cried the master of the house. “Now let’s see what’s the news of John Macnab?”

      He hunted furiously among the correspondence, tearing open envelopes and distributing letters to the others with the rapidity of a conjurer. One little sealed packet he reserved to the last, and drew from it three missives bearing the same superscription.

      These he opened, glanced at, and handed to Lamancha.

      “Read ‘em out, Charles,” he said. “It’s the answers at last.”

      Lamancha read slowly the first document, of which this is the text:

      “Glenraden Castle, Strathlarrig, Aug.—, 19—

       “Sir, I have received your insolent letter. I do not know what kind of rascal you may be, except that you have the morals of a bandit and the assurance of a halfpenny journalist. But since you seem in your perverted way to be a sportsman, I am not the man to refuse your challenge. My reply is, sir, damn your eyes and have a try. I defy you to kill a stag in my forest between midnight on the 28th of August and midnight of the 30th. I will give instructions to my men to guard my marches, and if you should be roughly handled by them you have only to blame yourself.

       “Yours faithfully, Alastair Raden.

       “John Macnab, Esq.”

      “That’s a good fellow,” said Archie with conviction. “Just the sort of letter I’d write myself. He takes things in the proper spirit. But it’s a blue look-out for your chances, my lads. What old Raden doesn’t’ know about deer isn’t knowledge.”

      Lamancha read the second reply:

      “Strathlarrig House, Strathlarrig, Aug.—, 19—.

       “My Dear Sir,

       “Your letter was somewhat of a surprise, but as I am not yet familiar with the customs of this country, I forbear to enlarge on this point, and since you have marked it ‘Confidential’ I am unable to take advice. You state that you intend to kill a salmon in the Strathlarrig water between midnight on September 1 and midnight on September 3, this salmon, if killed, to remain my property. I have consulted such books as might give me guidance, and I am bound to state that in my view the laws of Scotland are hostile to your suggested enterprise. Nevertheless, I do not take my stand on the law, for I presume that your proposition is conceived in a sporting spirit, and that you dare me to stop you. Well sir, I will see you on that hand. The fishing is not that good at present that I am inclined to quarrel about one salmon. I give you leave to use every method that may occur to you to capture that fish, and I promise to use every method that may occur to me to prevent you, In your letter you undertake to use only ‘legitimate means.’ I would have pleasure in meeting you in the same spirit, but I reckon that all means are counted legitimate in the capture of poachers.

       “Cordially, Junius Theodore Bandicott.

       “Mr. J. Macnab.”

      “That’s the young’un,” Archie observed. “The old man was christened ‘Acheson,’ and don’t take any interest in fishin’. He spends his time in lookin’ for Norse remains.”

      “He seems a decent sort of fellow,” said Palliser-Yeates, “but I don’t quite like the last sentence. He’ll probably try shooting, same as his countrymen once did on the Beauly. Whoever gets this job will have some excitement for his money.”

      Lamancha read out the last letter:

      “227 North Melville Street, Edinburgh, Aug.—, 19—

       “Sir, Re Haripol Forest.

       “Our client, the Right Honourable Lord Claybody, has read to us on the telephone your letter of Aug.—and has desired us to reply to it. We are instructed to say that our client is at a loss to understand how to take your communication, whether as a piece of impertinence or as a serious threat. If it is the latter, and you persist in your intention, we are instructed to apply to the Court for a summary interdict to prevent your entering upon his lands. We would also point out that under the Criminal Law of Scotland, any person whatsoever who commits a trespass in the daytime by entering upon any land without leave of the proprietor, in pursuit of, inter alia, deer, is liable to a fine of two pounds, while, if such person have his face blackened, or if five or more persons acting in concert commit the trespass, the penalty is five pounds (2 & 3 William IV, C. 68). We are, sir, Your obedient servants, Prosser, McKelpie, and MacLymont.

       “John Macnab, Esq.”

      Lamancha laughed. “Is that good law, Ned?”

      Leithen read the letter again. “I suppose so. Deer being ferae naturae, there is no private property in them or common law crime in killing them, and the only remedy is to prevent trespass in pursuit of them or to punish the trespasser.”

      “It seems to me that you get off pretty lightly,” said Archie. “Two quid is not much in the way of a fine, for I don’t suppose you want to black your faces or march five deep into Haripol…But what a rotten sportsman old Claybody is!”

      Palliser-Yeates heaved a sigh of apparent relief. “I am bound to say the replies are better than I expected. It will be a devil of a business, though, to circumvent that old Highland chief, and that young American sounds formidable. Only, if we’re caught out there, we’re dealing with sportsmen and can appeal to their higher nature, you know. Claybody is probably the easiest proposition so far as getting a stag is concerned, but if we’re nobbled by him we needn’t look for mercy. Still, it’s only a couple of pounds.”

      “You’re an ass, John,” said Leithen. “It’s only a couple of pounds for John Macnab. But if these infernal Edinburgh lawyers get on the job, it will be a case of producing the person of John Macnab, and then we’re all in the cart. Don’t you realise that in this fool’s game we simply cannot afford to lose—none of us?”

      “That,” said Lamancha, “is beyond doubt the truth, and it’s just there that the fun comes in.”

      The reception of the three letters had brightened the atmosphere. Each man had now something to think about, and, till it was time to dress for dinner, each was busy with sheets of the Ordnance maps. The rain had begun again, the curtains were drawn, and round a good fire of peats they read and smoked and dozed. Then they had hot baths, and it was a comparatively cheerful and very hungry party that assembled in the dining-room. Archie proposed champagne, but the offer was unanimously declined. “We ought to be in training,” Lamancha warned him. “Keep the Widow for the occasions when we need comforting. They’ll come all right.”

      Palliser-Yeates