Tales of Mysteries & Espionage - John Buchan Edition. Buchan John

not likely to be uncivil—least of all to a charming lady and to a member of the English Parliament. He is a lover of Europe.”

      Don Luis had many questions to ask in turn, and it slowly dawned upon one of his hearers that this candid and friendly sung man was taking in more than he gave out. Archie was drawn to speak of his own past—his eastern travels, his experiences in the War, even of his friends, who could mean nothing to a South American who had only once been in England. He found himself quoting Sandy Arbuthnot by name, as if he had been in his club at home.

      “I beg your pardon,” he said confusedly. “You can’t be interested in my yarning about people you never heard of.”

      “But I am deeply interested. Your friend is a wise man. How do you call him—Arbuttnot?”

      “He was Sandy Arbuthnot, but his father is dead and he is Lord Clanroyden now.”

      “A lord! Clan—roy—den. Por dios! That is a strange name.”

      “Scotch,” said Archie.

      “Ah yes—Scotch. That is your Highlands? Your Gran Seco? This Lord Clay—roy—den, he is in Scotland?”

      “I’m blessed if I know where he is at the moment. He’s never long off the road.”

      Janet, too, to her surprise found herself talking to this stranger as if she had known him from childhood. She described vivaciously her encounter with the Moplahs.

      “They are common as lentils in Olifa at certain seasons,” said Don Luis, “those noisy, emancipated American children. They have gone, you say, to the Gran Seco, where Americans are not loved. There may be work then for Senor Wilbur.”

      “They are really rather nice,” said Janet. “I think I have met one of them before… Archie, I didn’t tell you, but I believe the tall girl who was with the Moplahs the first day and whom we never saw again was the Miss Dasent who came to Strathlarrig. She was some sort of relation of Mr Blenkiron.”

      “Not really?” exclaimed the interested Archie. “That’s curious. Did you ever hear of Blenkiron, Don Luis? He died the other day—American, rather a great man—he was the chap I was telling you about in the Shark-Gladas affair.”

      The other shook his head. “I do not think so. But American names are so difficult that it is hard to remember. They are worse than Clan—roy—den.”

      Don Mario made it his habit to retire to rest at ten o’clock, and Janet, being very sleepy, followed soon after. Archie and Don Luis lit a final cigar, and in the smoking of it strolled into the moonlit verandah. On this side of the house the view was not broken by outbuildings, and beyond a string of paddocks the eye passed to an endless sweep of yellow savannah which faded in the distance into a golden haze. The air was fresh, and, though the night was still, cool wafts seemed to drift soundlessly down from the hidden mountains.

      “My countrymen and yours fought each other for three hundred years,” said Don Luis, “but a Spaniard and an Englishman, when they meet, usually understand each other, I presume, with your permission, on that old sympathy, and I ask you boldly what are you doing here?”

      The young man’s manner had changed from the debonair ease which had marked it at dinner. It had become at once confidential and authoritative.

      “Fact is, I don’t know,” was Archie’s reply. “Principally, Janet and I are on a postponed honeymoon. I had a notion to pick up something about South American politics, which might be useful to me in Parliament.”

      “And you find Olifa rather barren ground?”

      “I did at first… Now, I am not so sure.”

      “Will you let me advise you? We are both young men and have served in war. Stay a little in Olifa if you have not yet exhausted the charm of the capital, and then take our delightful lady on board the first ship and go straight home.”

      “Home? Why in the world?” Archie stared at the speaker.

      “You can go to Valparaiso and Buenos Ayres if they amuse you. But get out of Olifa.”

      “But why?”

      “I cannot tell you why. I am your friend, and a friend may venture to advise without reasons.”

      “But what’s the trouble? Olifa is a great deal more peaceful than Europe. You don’t mean to say that there’s danger… “

      “Olifa is a mask—you have not seen her face. Look in front of you. You see nothing but flat pastures. But beyond you know that there are wild mountains. So I tell you that behind the flatness of Olifa there are wild things.”

      “Well, I’m blessed! D’you know, Don Luis, you are making Olifa rather attractive. You are giving me a very good reason why I should stay.”

      “But madame… “

      “I don’t know. For heaven’s sake, don’t tell her what you’re telling me, for if she gets a notion that there’s mystery abroad she won’t stop till she is up to the neck it. But of course I can’t let her run any risks… “

      “I do not think that you will be able to help yourself—if you stay. You may be caught up in a tide which will carry you to things very different from your respectable English politics… And these things will not be a honeymoon.”

      Archie stared at his companion’s face. The moon was very bright and the face which it revealed was grave and set.

      “You are talking in riddles,” said Archie. “I wish you would be more explicit. You tell me to get out of the country, because if I stay I may have trouble. You can hardly leave it at that, you know. What kind of trouble? Perhaps it’s the kind that Janet and I might rather fancy.”

      “That is why I warn you. You are a young man with a wife. It is easy to see that you are not the type who avoids danger. But a wife makes a difference—especially such a lady as yours. You would not wish to involve her and yet you may unwittingly, if you do not leave Olifa.”

      “Supposing I were a bachelor, what would you say?”

      Don Luis laughed. “Ah, then, I should speak otherwise. I should make of you a confidant—perhaps an ally! You wish to visit the Gran Seco, but your passports are unaccountably delayed. I might offer to take you to the Gran Seco, but not by Santa Ana and the Company railway.”

      Archie pondered. “Everything in this country seems turn on the Gran Seco,” he said, “and we don’t seem to able to get there.”

      “It may be that that a blunder of officialdom is doing you a service,” said Don Luis solemnly.

      “Well, I’ve no desire to go there and get tangled up in a local shindy, which I take it is what you are hinting at. I remember Mr Wilbur said that the miners seemed to be ugly crowd. I’m very much obliged to you, Don Luis.”

      “You will not tell anyone that I have warned you.”

      “Certainly not… I’m rather inclined to take your advice, and tell Gedd to drop the passport business. I did come here looking for trouble—and, besides, there’s my wife.”

      But in this Archie was not wholly candid. He told his self that what he called a “dago revolution” had no charms for him, especially with Janet to take care of. But realised that this phrase did not exhaust the mystery in Olifa, which had been slowly accumulating in his mind till the sense of it was like an atmosphere about him. And he had taken a strong liking to Don Luis. The young man had a curious appeal in his alternate gaiety and gravity. There was that in him which seemed to beckon to wild and delightful things; he was such a companion as Archie a dozen years ago would have welcomed to ride with over the edge of the world. But Archie—rangé, married, lame of one leg—decided with a half-sigh that such visions and such comrades were no longer for him.

      V