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

Be well advised, Mr Craw. You cannot deceive us. We are perfectly informed of all that has been happening here. At this moment every exit from your house is watched. You had better surrender at discretion.”

      “Barbon,” said Mr Craw in a pained voice, “what in Heaven’s name is he talking about?”

      Mr Barbon was fussy and anxious in the ordinary relations of life, but not for nothing did the blood of a Cromwellian Barebones run in his veins. His war record had proved that he could be cool enough in certain emergencies. Now he was rather enjoying himself.

      “I’m sure I don’t know, sir,” he said. “The first three men are, or were, the shooting tenants in Knockraw. I knew Count Casimir slightly, and they came to dinner last Saturday night, and we dined with them on Monday. I heard that they had now gone home. I know nothing about Prince John. There was nobody of that name with the Knockraw people when they dined here.”

      “I see,” said Mr Craw. He turned to Mastrovin. “Is that information any use to you? Apparently you must look for your friends at Knockraw. I myself have been away from home and only returned last night. I know nothing whatever about your Evallonians. I never saw them in my life.”

      “I am sorry to be obliged to give you the lie,” said Mastrovin. “We have evidence that three of them came here two days ago. We know that Prince John is here—he was seen here this very day. I warn you, Mr Craw, that we are difficult people to trifle with.”

      “I have no desire to trifle with you.” Mr Craw’s manner was stately. “You come here uninvited, and cross-examine me in my own library. I have told you the literal truth. You, sir, have the air and speech of a gentleman. I shall be obliged if you will now withdraw.”

      For answer the five men came a little nearer, and Barbon sat himself on the arm of his chief’s chair. He was beginning to measure the physical prowess of the visitors. The difficulty lay in what they might have in their ulster pockets.

      Over the fireplace there was a huge coat of arms in stone, the complete achievement of the house of Westwater, and above this was a tiny balcony. It was flush with the wall and scarcely discernible from below—it was reached by a turret stair from the old keep, and may once have been a hiding-place, the Canonry equivalent of a “priest’s hole.” At this moment it held Alison and Jaikie. They had a full view of Mr Craw’s face and of the Evallonian profiles.

      “Will you inform us who are the present inmates of this house?” Mastrovin asked.

      “Let me see,” said Mr Craw. “Apart from Mr Barbon, whom you see here, there is Miss Cazenove, who has just gone, and Mr Crombie, who is one of my Press assistants. Then there is a young Australian friend called Charvill. There is also a country neighbour, Mr McCunn, but he is out this evening and will not be home till late. That is all, I think, Barbon, besides the domestic staff?”

      “Will you kindly have them assembled here?”

      The tone nettled Mr Craw, in spite of the restraint he had put upon himself.

      “You are insolent, sir,” he rapped out. “You would be justly served if I summoned my servants and had you kicked out-of-doors. Who are you to issue commands?”

      “We happen to be in command,” said Mastrovin with a thrust forward of his heavy chin. “Your household staff is depleted. Your outdoor staff is in Portaway and will not return till evening. They were seen to leave your park gates. We have our own people inside and outside this house. You will be wise to obey us.”

      Mr Craw, having remembered his part, shrugged his shoulders. He touched a button on the table, and Bannister appeared with a suddenness that suggested that he had been lurking outside the door.

      “Have the goodness to ask Mr Charvill and Mr Crombie to come here,” he said. “You will find them, I believe, in the billiard-room.”

      The billiard-room was at the other end of the house, but the rapidity with which the two presented themselves argued a less distant lair. Dougal had his pipe, and Robin Charvill had his finger in a novel to mark his place. Mastrovin cast an eye over their physical proportions, which were not contemptible. Craw was, of course, useless, but there were three able-bodied opponents if trouble came. But he was accustomed to similar situations, and had no doubt about his power to control them.

      “You say this is all your household. Very well. We will soon test your truthfulness. We are going to search your house. You four will remain here till I return, and two of my friends will keep you company. You”—he turned to Bannister, who stood discreetly in the background—”will accompany me.”

      Up in the gallery Jaikie chuckled. “Just what I hoped,” he whispered to Alison. “Bannister knows what to do. You and I must show them a little sport.” The two slipped out to the turret staircase.

      Rosenbaum and Dedekind were the two left behind to guard the prisoners in the library. They had done the same sort of thing before and knew their job, for they took up positions to cover the two doors. Each had his right hand in the pocket of his ulster. The face of the Jew Rosenbaum was heavy and solemn, expressionless as a ship’s figurehead, but Dedekind was more human. He shifted his feet, undid the top button of his ulster, for the night was not cold and the fire was good, and looked as if he would like to talk. But the party of four seemed to be oblivious of their gaolers. Mr Craw resumed his papers, Barbon was busy making entries in a note-book, Dougal had picked up a weekly journal, and Charvill had returned to his novel. They gave a fine example of British phlegm, and disregarded the intruders as completely as if they had been men come to wind up the clocks.

      Meantime Bannister, with the injured air of an abbot who is compelled to reveal to some raiding Goths the treasures of his abbey, conducted Mastrovin, Ricci, and Calaman over the castle. They descended into the hall, where they found the sixth Evallonian at his lonely post: he reported that he had seen and heard no one. They investigated the big apartments on the ground-floor, including the nest of small rooms beyond the dining-hall. Then they made an elaborate survey of the main bedroom floors, both in the ancient central keep and the more modern wings. They found everything in order. They penetrated to Mr Craw’s luxurious chamber, to which he proposed, as we know, to add a private bathroom. They raided the rooms which housed Barbon and Dougal, Charvill and Dickson McCunn, and they satisfied themselves by an inspection of the belongings that the inmates were those whom Bannister named. They entered various bedrooms which were clearly unoccupied. And then they extended their researches to the upper floors.

      It was here that their tour became less satisfying. The upper floors of Castle Gay are like a rabbit-warren—clusters of small rooms, tortuous passages on different levels, unexpected staircases, unlooked-for cul-de-sacs. It was hard for any stranger to preserve his sense of direction, and to keep tally of all that he saw. The business was complicated by the hidden presence of Alison and Jaikie, and of Tibbets, who had been summoned from his own lair. Also of the beagle pups, Tactful and Pensive.

      Alison, who knew every cranny of the house, took command, and Jaikie and Tibbets in their stocking-soles followed… The Evallonians would hear suddenly loud voices at a corridor’s end, and on arriving there find no one. Lights would be turned on and as suddenly turned off. There would be a skirl of idiot laughter as they came into a passage, cold and blue in the light of the moon… Also there were dogs, dogs innumerable. A hound would suddenly burst into their midst and disappear. Ricci fell heavily on one of the stairways, because of a dog which swept him off his legs.

      The searchers, puffing and bewildered, lost their tempers. Bannister found a pistol clapped to his chest, and turned on Mastrovin a pallid, terror-stricken face.

      “What infernal maze is this you have brought us to?” the voice behind the pistol demanded. “Answer, you fool. There are people here, many people. Who are they?”

      The butler was a figure of panic. “I don’t know,” he stammered. “You have seen the rooms of the staff. Up here no one sleeps. It is the old part of the house. They say it is haunted.”

      “Haunted be damned!” Mastrovin turned suddenly and peered into a long, low attic, empty except for some ancient bedsteads. There was a