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

and the lodge? You’ve never taken me fishing there.”

      “Ye wad need to be dementit before you went fishin’ there,” said Angus grimly. “There’s the stretch above the brig that they ca’ the Lang Whang. There was never man killed a saumon in it, for the fish dinna bide, but rin through to the Wood Pule. There’s fish in the Wood Pule, but the trees are that thick that ye canna cast a flee. Though I’ll no say,” he added meditatively, “that ye couldna cleek a fish out of it. I’d better put a watcher at the Wood Pule.”

      “You may rule that out, for the bargain says ‘legitimate means,’ and from all I know of Macnab he’s a sportsman and keeps his word. Well, then, we come to the park, where we’ve five pools—the Duke’s, the Black Scour, Davie’s Pot, Lady Maisie’s, and the Minister’s. We’ve got to keep our eyes skinned there…What about the upper water?”

      “There’s no a fish in it,’ said Lennox. “They canna get past the linn above the Minister’s. There was aye talk o’ makin’ a salmon ladder, but naething was done, and there’s nocht above the Minister’s but small broon troot.”

      “That makes it a pretty simple proposition,” said Junius. “We’ve just the five pools to guard. For the form of the thing we’ll keep watchers on all night, but we may take it that the danger lies only in the thirty-four hours of daylight. Now, remember, we’re taking no chances. Not a soul is to be allowed to fish on the Strathlarrig water till after midnight on the 3rd of September. Not even I or my father. Macnab’s a foxy fellow and I wouldn’t put it past him to disguise himself as Mr Bandicott or myself. Do you understand? If you see a man near the river, kick him out. If he has a rod in his hand, lock him up in the garage and send for me…No, better still. Nobody’s to be allowed inside the gates—except Colonel Raden and his daughters. You’d better tell the lodge-keeper, Angus. If anybody comes to call, they must come back another day. These are my orders, you understand, and I fire anyone who disobeys them. If the 3rd of September passes without accident there’s twenty dollars—I mean to say, five pounds—for each of you. That’s all I’ve got to say.”

      “Will we watch below the park, sir?” Angus asked.

      “Watch every damn foot of the water from the bridge to the linns.”

      Thus it came about that when Janet Raden took her afternoon ride past the Wood of Larrigmore she beheld a man patrolling the bog like a policeman on point duty, and when she entered the park for a gallop on the smooth turf she observed a picket at each pool. “Poor John Macnab!” she sighed. “He hasn’t the ghost of a chance. I’m rather sorry my family discovered America.”

      Next day, the 1st of September, the Scottish Press published a short account of Mr Bandicott’s discovery, and The Scotsman had a leader on it. About noon a spate of telegrams began, and the girl who carried them on a bicycle from Inverlarrig had a weary time of it. The following morning the Press of Britain spread themselves on the subject. The Times had a leader and an interview with a high authority at the British Museum; the Daily Mail had a portrait of Mr Bandicott and a sketch of his past career, a photograph of what purported to be a Viking’s tomb in Norway, and a chatty article on the law of treasure-trove. The Morning Post congratulated the discoverer in the name of science, but lamented in the name of patriotism that the honour should have fallen to an alien—views which led to an interminable controversy in its pages with the secretary of the Pilgrim’s Club and the president of the American Chamber of Commerce. The evening papers had brightly written articles on Strathlarrig, touching on the sport of deer-stalking, Celtic mysticism, the crofter question, and the law dealing with access to mountains. The previous evening, too, the special correspondents had begun to arrive from all points of the compass, so that the little inn of Inverlarrig had people sleeping in its one bathroom and under its dining-room table. By the morning of the 2nd of September the glen had almost doubled its male population.

      The morning, after some rain in the night, broke in the thin fog which promised a day of blazing heat. Sir Edward Leithen, taking the air after breakfast, decided that his attempt should be made in the evening, for he wanted the Larrig waters well warmed by the sun for the type of fishing he proposed to follow. Benjie had faithfully reported to him the precautions which the Bandicotts had adopted, and his meditations were not cheerful. With luck he might get a fish, but only by a miracle could he escape unobserved. His plan depended upon the Lang Whang being neglected by the watchers as not worthy of their vigilance, but according to Benjie’s account even the Lang Whang had become a promenade. He had now lost any half-heartedness in the business, and his obstinate soul was as set on victory as ever it had been the case in the Law Courts. For the past four days he had thought of nothing else,—his interest in Palliser-Yeates’s attack on Glenraden had been notably fainter than that of the others; every energy he had of mind and body was centred upon killing a fish that night and carrying it off. With some amusement he reflected that he had dissipated the last atom of his ennui, and he almost regretted that apathy had been exchanged for this violent pre-occupation.

      Presently he turned his steps to the arbour to the east of the garden, which forms at once a hiding-place and a watch-tower. There he found his host busied about the preparation of his speech, with the assistance of Lamancha, who was also engaged intermittently in the study of the ordnance map of Haripol.

      “It’s a black look-out for you, Ned,” said Sir Archie. “I hear the Bandicotts have taped off every yard of their water, and have got a man to every three. Benjie says the place only wants a piper or two to be like the Muirtown Highland Gathering. What are you going to do about it?”

      “I’m going to have a try this evening. I can’t chuck in my hand, but the thing’s a stark impossibility. I hoped old Bandicott would be so excited at unearthing the Viking that he would forget about precautions, but he’s as active as a beaver.”

      “That’s the young ‘un. He don’t give a damn for Vikings, but he’s out to protect his fish. You’ve struck the American business mind, my lad, and it’s an awful thing for us casual Britons. I suppose you won’t let me come down and watch you. I’d give a lot to see a scrap between you and that troglodyte Angus.”

      At that moment Benjie, wearing the waterproof cape of ceremony, presented himself at the arbour door. He bore a letter which he presented to Sir Archie. The young man read it with a face which was at once perplexed and pleased.

      “It’s from old Bandicott. He says he has got some antiquarian swell—Professor Babwater I think the name is—coming to stay, and he wants me to dine tonight—says the Radens are coming too…This is the devil. What had I better do, Charles?”

      “Stay at home. You’ll put your foot in it somehow if you go. The girl who held up old John will be there, and she’s bound to talk about John Macnab, and you’re equally bound to give the show away.”

      “But I haven’t any sort of an excuse. Americans are noted for their politeness, and here I have been shutting the door in the face of the poor old chap when he toiled up the hill. He won’t understand it, and people will begin to talk, and that’s the quickest way to blow the gaff. Besides, I’ve got to give up this lie about my ill-health if I’m to appear at Muirtown the day after to-morrow. What do you say, Ned?”

      “I think you’d better go,” Leithen answered. “We can’t have the neighbourhood thinking you are plague-stricken. You’ll be drinking port, while I’m being carted by the gillies into the coal-hole. But for Heaven’s sake, Archie, go canny. That Raden girl will turn you inside out, if you give her a chance. And don’t you try and be clever, whatever happens. If there’s a row and you see me being frog-marched into captivity, don’t trouble to create a diversion. Behave as if you had never seen me in your life before…You hadn’t heard of John Macnab except from Miss Raden, and you’re desperately keen to hear more, you understand. Play the guileless innocent and rack your brains to think who he can be. Start any hare you like—that he’s D’Annunzio looking for excitement…or the Poet Laureate…or an escaped lunatic. And keep it up that you are in delicate health. Oh, and talk politics—they’re safe enough. Babble about the Rally, and how the great Lamancha’s coming up for it all the way from the Borders.”

      Archie