Brothers & Sisters - John & Anna Buchan Edition (Collection of Their Greatest Works). Buchan John

observed the two, and rightly deduced what they were talking about. That was all to the good. It would convince Allins that Mr Craw was at Castle Gay, and lull any suspicion he might have entertained on the subject. He wished he knew himself where Mr Craw was… He was reminded of a duty. There was no public telephone in Portaway, and nothing of the kind in the Green Tree, but the head-porter had one in his cubby hole, and gave him permission to use it. He rang up Castle Gay and asked to speak to Dougal.

      When he heard the gruff hullo of his friend, he informed him of Mr Craw’s disappearance. Had he arrived at the Castle?

      “Good God!” came the answer. “He’s not here. What on earth are we to do? Isn’t he somewhere in Portaway?”

      “I don’t think so. I believe he’s on his way to you. I wish… “

      At that moment Jaikie was compelled to ring off, for Tibbets was leaving the lounge, and if he remained at the telephone Tibbets would see him. He particularly did not want to see Tibbets, so he subsided on to the floor. When he rose, Tibbets had left the hotel, but Allins was still in the lounge. He might leave at any moment, so there was no time to be lost.

      Followed by Woolworth, whom the rain had made to look like a damp white sponge set on four spindly legs, he sauntered into the lounge and sat himself on a couch a yard or two from Allins, the dog squatting docilely beside him. He spoke to Woolworth in a way which was bound to attract the attention of his neighbour. While he looked round, as if for a waiter, he observed that Allins’s eye was fixed on him. He hoped that, in spite of his strange collar and tie, Allins would recognise him. He had been seen in company with Alison, he had been seen that very morning outside Castle Gay park: surely these were compromising circumstances which Allins must wish to investigate.

      He was right. Allins smiled at him, came over, and sat down beside him on the couch.

      “I saw you at the meeting the other night,” he said pleasantly. “What do you think of the local Communists?”

      Jaikie was something of an actor. His manner was slightly defensive, and he looked at the speaker with narrowed eyes.

      “Very middling.” His voice was the sing-song of the Glasgow slums. “My friend wasn’t bad. Ye heard him—I saw ye at the back of the hall. But yon Stubber!” He spat neatly into the adjacent fire. “He was just a flash in the pan. Fine words and no guts. I know the breed!”

      “I didn’t hear Stubber—I had to leave early. Your friend, now. He seemed to know a good deal, but he wasn’t much of an orator.”

      “Carroll’s his name. Jimmy’s red hot. But ye’re right. He’s no much of a speaker.”

      Jaikie extracted from a waistcoat pocket a damaged Virginian cigarette, which he lit by striking a match on the seat of his trousers.

      “Have a drink,” said Allins.

      “I don’t mind if I do.”

      “What will you have?”

      “A dry Martini. If you had sampled as much bad whisky as me in these country pubs, you would never want to taste it again.”

      Two cocktails were brought. “Here’s luck,” said Allins, and Jaikie swallowed his in two gulps as the best way to have done with it. One of his peculiarities was a dislike of alcohol in every form except beer, a dislike increased by various experiments at Cambridge. Another was that alcohol had curiously little effect on him. It made him sick or sleepy, but not drunk. “Are you a Communist?” Allins asked. Jaikie looked sly. “That’s asking… No, by God, I’m no afraid to confess it. I’m as red as hell… That’s my private opinion, but I’ve to earn my living and I keep it dark.”

      “What’s your profession, if I may ask?”

      “I’m a journalist. And with what d’ye think? The Craw Press. I’m on their Glasgow paper. I’m here to cover the election, but our folk don’t want much about it, so I’ve a lot of time on my hands.”

      “That’s an odd place for a man of your opinions to be.”

      “Ye may say so. But a chap must live. I’m just biding my time till I can change to something more congenial. But meanwhile I get plenty fun studying the man Craw.”

      “Do you know him?”

      “Never clapped eyes on him. None of us have. But he lives in this neighbourhood, and I’ve been picking up a lot of information about him these last few days.”

      Jaikie had the art of watching faces without his scrutiny being observed, for his own eyes appeared to be gentle and abstracted. He respected Allins’s address. Allins’s manner was at once detached and ingratiating, and he spoke with a suspicion of a foreign accent. His eyes were small, sharp, and observant. He had the high gloss which good living and regular exercise give, but there were anxious lines about the corners of his eyes, and something brutal about the full compressed lips. The man was formidable, for he was desperately anxious; he was in a hole and would stick at little to get out of it.

      Jaikie’s last words seemed to rouse him to a livelier interest.

      “Have another drink,” he said.

      “I don’t mind if I do. Same as before.”

      Allins ordered a single cocktail. Jaikie sipped it, and then took the glass in his right hand. As he spoke he lowered it, and gradually bestowed its contents on the thick damp fleece of the couchant Woolworth, who was so wet already that he took no notice.

      “Mr Craw lives here?” said Allins. “Of course. I remember now. His is the big house some miles up the river.”

      “You passed it this morning,” said Jaikie, greatly daring. “Yon was you, wasn’t it, that I saw in the two-seater? I was having a yarn with an old fisherman body who had got a day’s fishing in the Callowa. I thought that, seeing he was allowed to fish the water, he could tell me something about Craw.”

      “And did he?”

      “Not him. He was only a Glasgow grocer that had got leave from the factor.”

      “Then what have you found out about Mr Craw?”

      “The queer thing is that I’ve found out so little. The man’s fair immured, and they won’t let people inside the place. I’m grand at getting on with plain folk, and I’ve made friends with a good few of the people on the estate. It’s a daft-like business. They keep the lodge gates locked up like prisons, but there’s a dozen places you can get into the park. I’ve been all round the gardens and not a soul to object. I could have got in at any one of twenty windows if I had wanted. Oh, I can tell ye, I’ve had some fun up there. Craw would fire me the morn if he knew what I had been up to.”

      It was Jaikie’s cue to appear a little excited, as if the second cocktail had been too much for him.

      “Have another drink?” said Allins.

      “I don’t mind if I do. The same… No, wait a jiffey. I’ll have a lickyure brandy.”

      As the waitress brought the drink, the head-porter also appeared.

      “They’re ringin’ up frae Castle Gay, Mr Galt,” he said. “Wantin’ to know if ye’re still in the hotel?”

      “Tell them I’ve just gone,” said Jaikie, and he winked at Allins.

      He sipped the brandy and looked mysteriously at his neighbour.

      “There’s a girl living up thereaways. I don’t know her name, but she wants this dog of mine. She saw him in Portaway the other day, and was mad to buy him. It seems that he’s like a wee beast she had herself that died. She offered me four pounds for him, but I wasn’t for selling… That was her ringing up just now. She’s a determined besom… I wonder who she can be. Craw is believed to be a bachelor, but maybe he has had a wife all the time on the sly.”

      As Jaikie spoke he decanted the brandy on the back of the sleeping Woolworth. This time he was