THE WICKED LAYETH A SNARE
In the enforced leisure provided for him by the stoppage of compulsory
recruitments, Eben McClure added to his knowledge. He left the men and
women in the drama which was unrolling itself about Glenanmays to take
care of themselves. He might not have had any the least interest in
them. He gave his whole thought to Whitefoot, Stair's lean, shaggy
collie.
By observation he obtained a good working knowledge of the whereabouts
of Whitefoot's master--not sufficient, certainly, to act upon if it had
been a case of capture. But all the same, near enough to enable him to
keep well out of Stair Garland's way, which at the moment was what he
most desired.
He rather despised the heather-craft of the other brothers, Fergus and
Agnew Garland, and he gave never a thought to Godfrey McCulloch or the
Free Trade band, which, he knew, was busy running in small cargoes as
quickly as possible during the blessed time of relief from military and
naval supervision.
But Stair Garland was another matter. Instinctively the spy knew his
danger. This was not a man to hesitate about pulling a trigger, and his
life, in the hollow of Stair Garland's hand, would weigh no heavier than
a puff of dandelion smoke which a gust of wind carries along with it. So
from his first acquaintance with him the spy had given Stair a wide
berth.
As the result of many observations and much reflection, McClure decided
that the lurking-place of this dangerous second son of the house of
Glenanmays was on the hill called Knock Minto, a rocky, irregular mass,
shaped like the knuckles of a clenched fist.
The summit overlooked the wide Bay of Luce, and the spy had remarked
thin columns of smoke rising up into the twilight, and lights which
glittered a moment and then were shut off in the short, pearl-grey
nights of later June, when the heavens are filled with quite useless
stars, and the darkness never altogether falls upon the earth.
Cargoes were being run on the east side--of that he was assured. But
after all that was no business of his. Eben found it more in his way to
watch Whitefoot. He had attempted, in the farm kitchen of Glenanmays, to
make friends with the collie, but a swift upward curl of the lip and
baring of the teeth, accompanied by a deep, snorting growl, warned him
that Whitefoot would have none of him.
Nevertheless, the dog went and came freely, and as the spy made no
further advances, Whitefoot soon ceased to regard him at all. And ever
more curiously Eben McClure kept his eyes on the outgoings and incomings
of Whitefoot.
And so it was that one still afternoon he found himself hidden under the
dense greenish-black umbrella of a yew tree, lying prone on the ivied
wall of the orchard of Ladykirk and listening to the talk of Patsy and
Miss Aline, who were sitting beneath in a creeper-covered "tonelle,"
work-baskets by their sides, and as peaceful as if Ladykirk had been
Eden on the eve of the coming of the serpent.
"Well," said Miss Aline, a little pleasantly tremulous with a sense of
living among wild adventure, "have you had any news to-day? I saw your
four-footed friend waiting for you at the corner of the shrubbery!"
"My Lord Wargrove has been to call upon Earl Raincy at the Castle," said
Patsy with unusual demureness. "Louis could not tell what he wanted, but
at any rate Earl Raincy promptly sent him and his insolence to--a place
you have heard of in church. He said it so loud and plain that the whole
house heard him, and he added remarks about royal dukes which would have
brought him to the scaffold along with his grandfather, if only he had
lived a century earlier."
"Perhaps the man only wanted to find out if you were there. Well,
now--" Miss Aline pondered, "the thing is not so foolish as it looks. For
little Lady Raincy, Louis's mother, might have secreted you somewhere
and never told the earl. The Castle is big enough, I'm sure. But, my
dear, you are better here. I am glad that you gave me the preference."
At this moment there was a stir up at the house of Ladykirk, whereupon
the spy modestly retired. He did not mind listening to the talk of
women, spread-eagled on the wall and hidden by the yew shade, but then,
again, he might chance upon men who were looking for him and find
himself very suddenly with a gunshot through him, or packed along with
the cockroaches in the grimy hold of the _Good Intent_. Captain Penman
was a singularly unsociable shipmate at the best of times for a man of
Eben's profession, and might even go the length of throwing him
overboard some dark night, merely, as it were, in order to lighten ship.
So the spy betook himself to a little fir-wood which commanded the
entrance of Ladykirk, the avenue, the flowery borders of the parterres,
the laurel copses, and the clumps of rhododendron through which the
white statues peered.
McClure was not long in finding out that Whitefoot had one favourite
mode of entering Ladykirk policies, a way contrived by himself. At the
corner of the vegetable garden the wall ran to the edge of a ha-ha and
there stopped short. A beech hedge met the masonry at right angles, and
just at the point of juncture the hedge thinned off a little. Whitefoot
had observed this, and was in the habit of racing like an arrow towards
it, and taking a leap across the ha-ha. Then, with his nose close to the
ground, he passed through the hole in the beech-hedge with undiminished
speed, skirted a flourishing rhubarb plantation, and so emerged into the
shaded path which led directly to the back door of the house.
As Eben McClure lay and watched, a plan flashed into his mind. By it he
saw that he would put the son of the King, and with him my Lord of
Wargrove, under everlasting obligations--such obligations as could not
be denied or escaped. Scottish law did not treat the abduction of
heiresses against their will in a gentle spirit, and before the northern
courts the son of the King would be in no better case than the sons of
Rob Roy, with whose exploits in this direction a taste for the reading
of chap-books had made him familiar.
McClure had not the least doubt that, against his own judgment, Lord
Wargrove had been compelled to call at Castle Raincy to ask for the loan
of a carriage and horses, only to receive a rebuff from the haughty old
Jacobite who held rule there.
Clearly, then, the princely party at Abbey Burnfoot must want assistance
very badly, and would be willing to pay very highly for it. He, Eben
McClure, was the man who would supply all that was necessary. He felt
already that modest pride which comes to an intelligent, fore-thoughted
man among a people of no initiative. He would take the whole matter into
his own care. Single-handed he would carry it through, but at a price, a
price to be arranged beforehand.
Now Eben McClure of Stonykirk, though held a traitor by the countryside,
came of no mean parentage. The McClures are a strong clan, and the
running of many cargoes has made them well-to-do. The day of their
desperate deeds is over. They prefer the cattle-market and the tussle of
wit with wit, matching knowledge with cunning in the arena of the
"private bargain."
All these and an infinity of other characteristics were united in the
burly person of Kennedy McClure of Supsorrow. A man of sixty, stout and
hardy, he still added field to field. He laid out every shilling of his
money wisely. He spent little, gave less, and swallowed up every
neighbouring piece of property which came into the market. If a man were
in difficulties, Kennedy McClure waited for the time when he would be
ready to accept an offer for such and such a meadow or stretch of
corn-land which he had long coveted. He would not cheat. He would pay
the proper price in ringing guineas, but he must have the first chance.
And then, overjoyed by the mere sight of the added acres, he would pace
the newly acquired territory with a step to which a full figure lent
importance, a certain pride of bearing which went well with the length
of his purse, and the authority which could be felt in his least word.
Kennedy kept up a certain parade of humility, but his looks and walk
belied him. A Royal Commission once approached him with a summons to
give evidence as to a plague of voles which was desolating the fertile
fields of the south-west, and his opinion was valuable because he had
recently acquired by purchase the great, barren hill called Ben Marrick.
"What is your business?" said the chairman, a profound English
agriculturist, with as profound an ignorance of the fine shades of
Galloway speech.
"_I work on the land_," said Kennedy McClure with smileless deference.
"What, a farm labourer?" said the great man; "this is first-hand
evidence indeed. Well, I suppose that you have studied the devastation
caused by these animals on the--the--what is the name--ah, yes, Ben
Marrick?"
"My lord," said the many-acred "farm labourer," "there is never a vole
on the Ben o' Marrick. The vole is far ower good a judge of land to
waste his time on the Marrick."
It needed the intervention of the local clerk of the commission to
convince the chairman that he was talking to a man far richer than
himself, besides being experienced and sage to the confines of rural
wisdom.
It was to this kinsman that Eben McClure was thinking of making an
appeal. He knew that along with the property, Kennedy had taken over the
carriage and capitally matched horses of the late laird of Glen Marrick.
Perhaps he would lend them to a kinsman in order to oblige a Royal Duke.
He need not be too precise as to what the Royal Duke wanted them for if
the pay were good and sure.
Accordingly Eben the Spy went to Supsorrow with an unquiet heart. He was
not at all assured how he would be received. He guessed, however, that a
promise made to the laird his cousin, that his herds and workmen, his
plough-hands and cattlemen, should be respected by the superintendent of
the "press," might do much to calm the first indignation which his
proposal would infallibly arouse.
Then Kennedy of Supsorrow hated the Free Traders, because they drew away
young men from his service and gave them false notions as to the amount
of yearly wage with which they ought to be content.
When a man can make as much by a couple of successful "runs" as by a
year's hard work at Supsorrow, he naturally began to reflect. And when
the Laird approached him to know if he were "staying on" as term-time
approached, the bargain became more difficult to strike. In many cases
it was finally understood between contracting parties that the wages
should continue the same, but that the occasional absence of a pair of
horses from the stables was a matter to which the master should shut his
eyes so long as he was satisfied in other ways.
Now Laird Supsorrow did not like this, but was compelled to like it or
leave it. He had so added to his fields, multiplied his acres, extended
the territories on which fed his flocks and herds, that service he must
have, and that of the best. He must be able to trust his men--for,
though he rode from dawn to dark, he could not overlook a tenth of his
belongings.
Still, though compelled to submit, Kennedy McClure bore a secret grudge
to the Traffic, all the more bitter that he did not venture to show it
in any way.
Eben found him getting ready to ride forth to look at a new farm for the
purchase of which he was negotiating.
The spy, in spite of his recent assumption of military port, made but a
poor figure beside his wealthy kinsman. The Laird wore his light blue
riding-coat with silver buttons, his long-flapped waistcoat, from which
at every other minute he took the gold snuff-box that was his pride,
white knee breeches, and rig-and-fur stockings of a tender grey-blue,
finished by stout black shoes with silver buckles of the solidest. He
clung to his old weather-beaten cocked hat, which, in the course of
argument, he would often take from his head and tap upon the palm of his
hand to emphasize his points.
"Kinsman," said Eben McClure, bowing humbly, without venturing to shake
hands, "I have need of a word with you. I shall not in any way detain
you, but it is a matter of His Majesty's Service, which I judge it will
be for your good to know."
The Laird of Supsorrow regarded his cousin with no very friendly eye,
and, pulling his gold snuff-box from his pocket, began to tap it in an
irritated, impatient manner.
"Ye are not thinking of coming here to borrow money as ye did the time
before?" he growled, "for if so, I tell you plainly that there is not
the half of a copper doit for you here. Besides, I hear that you are
doing very comfortably in the King's service, making yourself rich as
well as universally beloved, and a credit to your name!"
Eben McClure took the flout as he would have taken a kick from that
honoured double-soled shoe.
"Cousin Kennedy," he said, "I have no purpose but to do you service. As
you are good enough to remark, I have nothing to complain of in the
service of His Majesty, and it shall be my first duty and pleasure to
repay to you the little advance you were good enough to make me--with
interest."
Kennedy McClure looked his visitor over coolly.
"You have been robbing the stage?" he demanded.
The spy laughed, but it was a laugh from the teeth out-wards. As the
French say, he laughed "yellow." Nevertheless, he drew a pocket-book
from his breast, and suggested that if his kind cousin could spare the
time, perhaps it would be as well for them to speak together in a more
retired place.
"Come ben," said the Laird of Supsorrow, "there is no close time for the
receiving of siller."
They passed through a vast kitchen where everything was in the pink of
order. The tables were ranged in the middle. An array of pots brooded
over the fire, so close that they jostled each other. To the right the
eyes of the spy fell with respect upon the great oaken chair of the
master. For in this also the Laird had kept up the patriarchal style. He
still willingly, and with a certain gusto, took his seat in his own
kitchen, where he smoked and talked at ease with the men and maids as
they came or went. A little cupboard with a double door was fixed above
the chair within reach of his hand. It contained his pipes and his
library--a Bible, the poems of Burns, Boston's _Fourfold State_, _The
Cloud of Witnesses_, a Grey's _Tables_, a book on mensuration, Fowler's
_Horse Doctor_, and many almanacs tied in packets.
The master of all these strode through the kitchen, opened a door,
passed down a long passage, and ushered his relative into a room full of
stacked papers, driving whips, favourite bits and bridles. The grate was
still full of burned papers. A tall five-branched silver candlestick
stood in the middle of the table, and along the wall were ranged a few
chairs of the rudest fashioning, but all polished with use.
He motioned to Eben of Stonykirk to take a seat in one of these and
proceed with what he had to say.
"I can only give you a quarter of an hour," said the Laird. "I have an
appointment with that wee wastrel of a man-of-law, McKinstrie, down at
the Foulds. He is coming express-like from Cairnryan to meet me--and
it's me that will have to pay for his time!"
Whereupon the spy opened out his case and the great man of horses and
beeves listened intently. The Duke of Lyonesse wanted a carriage to
drive into England, where his brother, the Duke of Cumberland, had an
estate. The neighbouring great lords were all Jacobites at heart. Yes,
even the Earl Raincy had point-blank refused his carriage--a service
such as any gentleman might render to another, whatever might be his
political opinions.
"And so you come to me to hire," said Kennedy, scornfully. "I do not
keep post-chaises, man."
"No, cousin, no," said the spy earnestly, "your name need not appear at
all. Only leave the door of your stable unlocked, or at least so barred
that we can easily get through without doing damage, and we will answer
for the rest. And I will pay you fifty pounds down on the spot."
"That is not anything near the value of the horses," said Laird
Supsorrow, keeping his eyes fixed upon his cousin so that he might
divine where the trap lay.
"No," said Eben, "it is not. But if one of your men rides after--that
is, a few hours in the rear, the horses and carriage will be delivered
to him at the boundary of the kingdom of Scotland just at the farther
side of the Gretna bridge--"
"H-m-m," said Kennedy McClure, "if you deposit the money here, and
obtain a written security from his Highness to indemnify me for any
damage to the horses or vehicle, you are at liberty to do as you like
with Ben Marrick's equipage. On my side I shall arrange with Saunders
Grieve, my yardsman, that you shall not be disquieted in taking them."
"Would not a word from my Lord Wargrove suit you?"
"No," thundered the Laird, "let me have his Highness's fist and seal or
I shall not let a hoof leave the yard! What is Lord Wargrove to me?"
"Very well, then, cousin. I will send you the document by a sure hand,
and I leave the fifty pounds in your hands now, merely taking your
receipt for the Duke's satisfaction."
The Spy well knew that there was not the least possibility of getting
his Royal Highness to sign such a document, but as he himself was
leaving the country for good at any rate, he did not mind adding a
little forgery to his other necessary arrangements. Paper and seal were
easily accessible in the parlour, where the Duke often kept Eben waiting
for hours. He was an expert in other people's penmanship, and the
princely scrawl would not present the least difficulty to him. Still, in
case of accident, it would be as well to keep back the document till the
last possible moment. For his cousin was not a man to be easily
hoodwinked, and he might take it into his head to ride over, document in
hand, to require the prince acknowledge his own signature.
As he rode away the spy said to himself, "Yes, forgery it is, of course.
But sometimes it is worth while tossing a penny to see which it shall
be--fortune, or the hangman's rope."