'BURLINGTON ARCADE. SILVER-TOPPED EBONY STICK. Any offer made by the
other party will be doubled on receipt of that consignment uninjured.
Will meet the lady. Traps shall be kept here till after the date you
mention. CHURCH BROOK.'
'Now,' said Merton, 'he will see that Church Brook is Kirkburn, and that
you will be liberal. And he will understand that the detectives are not
to return to London. You did not show them the letters?'
'Of course not till you saw them, and I won't.'
'And, if nothing can be done before the eleventh, why you must promenade
in the Burlington Arcade.'
'You see one weak point in your offers, don't you?'
'Which?'
'Why, suppose they do release the marquis, how am I to get the money to
pay double his offer? He won't stump up and recoup me.'
Merton laughed. 'We must risk it,' he said. 'And, in the changed
circumstances, the tin might be raised on a post-obit. But _he_ won't
bid high; you may double safely enough.'
On considering these ideas Logan looked relieved. 'Now,' he asked,
'about your plan; is it following the emu's feather?'
Merton nodded. 'But I must do it alone. The detectives must stay here.
Now if I leave, dressed as I am, by the 10.49, I'll be tracked all the
way. Is there anybody in the country whom you can absolutely trust?'
'Yes, there's Bower, the gardener, the son of these two feudal survivals,
and there is _his_ son.'
'What is young Bower?'
'A miner in the collieries; the mine is near the house.'
'Is he about my size? Have you seen him?'
'I saw him last night; he was one of the watchers.'
'Is he near my size?'
'A trifle broader, otherwise near enough.'
'What luck!' said Merton, adding, 'well, I can't start by the 10.49. I'm
ill. I'm in bed. Order my breakfast in bed, send Mrs. Bower, and come
up with her yourself.'
Merton rushed up the turnpike stair; in two minutes he was undressed, and
between the sheets. There he lay, reading Bradshaw, pages 670, 671.
Presently there was a knock at the door, and Logan entered, followed by
Mrs. Bower with the breakfast tray.
Merton addressed her at once.
'Mrs. Bower, we know that we can trust you absolutely.'
'To the death, sir--me and mine.'
'Well, I am not ill, but people must think I am ill. Is your grandson on
the night shift or the day shift?'
'Laird is on the day shift, sir.'
'When does he leave his work?'
'About six, sir.'
'That is good. As soon as he appears--'
'I'll wait for him at the pit's mouth, sir.'
'Thank you. You will take him to his house; he lives with your son?'
'Yes, sir, with his father.'
'Make him change his working clothes--but he need not wash his face
much--and bring him here. Mr. Logan, I mean Lord Fastcastle, will want
him. Now, Mrs. Bower--you see I trust you absolutely--what he is wanted
for is _this_. I shall dress in your grandson's clothes, I shall blacken
my hands and face slightly, and I must get to Drem. Have I time to reach
the station by ten minutes past seven?'
'By fast walking, sir.'
'Mr. Logan and your grandson--your grandson in my clothes--will walk
later to your son's house, as they find a chance, unobserved, say about
eleven at night. They will stay there for some time. Then they will be
joined by some of the police, who will accompany Mr. Logan home again.
Your grandson will go to his work as usual in the morning. That is all.
You quite understand? You have nothing to do but to bring your grandson
here, dressed as I said, as soon as he leaves his work. Oh, wait a
moment! Is your grandson a teetotaller?'
'He's like the other lads, sir.'
'All the better. Does he smoke?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Then pray bring me a pipe of his and some of his tobacco. And, ah yes,
does he possess such a thing as an old greatcoat?'
'His auld ane's sair worn, sir.'
'Never mind, he had better walk up in it. He has a better one?'
'Yes, sir.'
'I think that is all,' said Merton. 'You understand, Mrs. Bower, that I
am going away dressed as your grandson, while your grandson, dressed as
myself, returns to his house to-night, and to work to-morrow. But it is
not to be known that I _have_ gone away. I am to be supposed ill in bed
here for a day or two. You will bring my meals into the room at the
usual hours, and Logan--of course you can trust Dr. Douglas?'
'I do.'
'Then he had better be summoned to my sick bed here to-morrow. I may be
so ill that he will have to call twice. That will keep up the belief
that I am here.'
'Good idea,' said Logan, as the old woman left the room. 'What had I
better do now?'
'Oh, send your telegrams--the advertisements--to the London papers. They
can go by the trap you ordered for me, that I am too ill to go in. Then
you will have to interview the detectives, take them into the laird's
chamber, and, if they start my theory about the secret entrance being
under the fallen stones, let them work away at removing them. If they
don't start it, put them up to it; anything to keep them employed and
prevent them from asking questions in the villages.'
'But, Merton, I understand your leaving in disguise; still, why go first
to Edinburgh?'
'The trains from your station to town do not fit. You can look.' And
Merton threw Bradshaw to Logan, who caught it neatly.
When he had satisfied himself, Logan said, 'The shops will be closed in
Edinburgh, it will be after eight when you arrive. How will you manage
about getting into decent clothes?'
'I have my idea; but, as soon as you can get rid of the detectives, come
back here; I want you to coach me in broad Scots words and pronunciation.
I shall concoct imaginary dialogues. I say, this is great fun.'
'Dod, man, aw 'm the lad that'll lairn ye the pronoonciation,' said
Logan, and he was going.
'Wait,' said Merton, 'sign me a paper giving me leave to treat about the
ransom. And promise that, if I don't reappear by the eleventh, you won't
negotiate at all.'
'Not likely I will,' said Logan.
Merton lay in bed inventing imaginary dialogues to be rendered into Scots
as occasion served. Presently Logan brought him a little book named
_Mansie Waugh_.
'That is our lingo here,' he said; and Merton studied the work carefully,
marking some phrases with a pencil.
In about an hour Logan reported that the detectives were at work in the
secret passage. The lesson in the Scots of the Lothians began,
accompanied by sounds of muffled laughter. Not for two or three
centuries can the turret chamber at Kirkburn have heard so much
merriment.
The afternoon passed in this course of instruction. Merton was a fairly
good mimic, and Logan felt at last that he could not readily be detected
for an Englishman. Six o'clock had scarcely struck when Mrs. Bower's
grandson was ushered into the bedroom. The exchange of clothes took
place, Merton dressing as the young Bower undressed. The detectives, who
had found nothing, were being entertained by Mrs. Bower at dinner.
'I know how the trap in the secret passage is worked,' said Merton, 'but
you keep them hunting for it.'
Had the worthy detectives been within earshot the yells of laughter
echoing in the turret as the men dressed must have suggested strange
theories to their imaginations.
'Larks!' said Merton, as he blackened his face with coal dust.
Dismissing young Bower, who was told to wait in the hall, Merton made his
final arrangements. 'You will communicate with me under cover to
Trevor,' he said. He took a curious mediaeval ring that he always wore
from his ringer, and tied it to a piece of string, which he hung round
his neck, tucking all under his shirt. Then he arranged his thick
comforter so as to hide the back of his head and neck (he had bitten his
nails and blackened them with coal).
'Logan, I only want a bottle of whisky, the cork drawn and loose in the
bottle, and a few dirty Scotch one pound notes; and, oh! has Mrs. Bower a
pack of cards?'
Having been supplied with these properties, and said farewell to Logan,
Merton stole downstairs, walked round the house, entered the kitchen by
the back door, and said to Mrs. Bower, 'Grannie, I maun be ganging.'
'My grandson, gentlemen,' said Mrs. Bower to the detectives. Then to her
grandson, she remarked, 'Hae, there's a jeely piece for you'; and Merton,
munching a round of bread covered with jam, walked down the steep avenue.
He knew the house he was to enter, the gardener's lodge, and also that he
was to approach it by the back way, and go in at the back door. The
inmates expected him and understood the scheme; presently he went out by
the door into the village street, still munching at his round of bread.
To such lads and lassies as hailed him in the waning light he replied
gruffly, explaining that he had 'a sair hoast,' that is, a bad cough,
from which he had observed that young Bower was suffering. He was soon
outside of the village, and walking at top speed towards the station.
Several times he paused, in shadowy corners of the hedges, and listened.
There was no sound of pursuing feet. He was not being followed, but, of
course, he might be dogged at the station. The enemy would have their
spies there: if they had them in the village his disguise had deceived
them. He ran, whenever no passer-by was in sight; through the villages
he walked, whistling 'Wull ye no come back again!' He reached the
station with three minutes to spare, took a third-class ticket, and went
on to the platform. Several people were waiting, among them four or five
rough-looking miners, probably spies. He strolled towards the end of the
platform, and when the train entered, leaped into a third-class carriage
which was nearly full. Turning at the door, he saw the rough customers
making for the same carriage. 'Come on,' cried Merton, with a slight
touch of intoxication in his voice; 'come on billies, a' freens here!'
and he cast a glance of affection behind him at the other occupants of
the carriage. The roughs pressed in.
'I won't have it,' cried a testy old gentleman, who was economically
travelling by third-class, 'there are only three seats vacant. The rest
of the train is nearly empty. Hi, guard! station-master, hi!'
'A' _freens_ here,' repeated Merton stolidly, taking his whisky bottle
from his greatcoat pocket. Two of the roughs had entered, but the guard
persuaded the other two that they must bestow themselves elsewhere. The
old gentleman glared at Merton, who was standing up, the cork of the
bottle between his teeth, as the train began to move. He staggered and
fell back into his seat.
'We are na fou, we're no _that_ fou,'
Merton chanted, directing his speech to the old gentleman,
'But just a wee drap in oor 'ee!'
'The curse of Scotland,' muttered the old gentleman, whether with
reference to alcohol or to Robert Burns, is uncertain.
'The Curse o' Scotland,' said Merton, 'that's the nine o' diamonds. I
hae the cairts on me, maybe ye'd take a hand, sir, at Beggar ma Neebour,
or Catch the Ten? Ye needna be feared, a can pay gin I lose.' He
dragged out his cards, and a handful of silver.
The rough customers between whom Merton was sitting began to laugh
hoarsely. The old gentleman frowned.
'I shall change my carriage at the next station,' he said, 'and I shall
report you for gambling.'
'A' freens!' said Merton, as if horrified by the austere reception of his
cordial advances. 'Wha's gaumlin'? We mauna play, billies, till he's
gane. An unco pernicketty auld carl, thon ane,' he remarked, _sotto
voce_. 'But there's naething in the Company's by-laws again
refraishments,' Merton added. He uncorked his bottle, made a pretence of
sucking at it, and passed it to his neighbours, the rough customers. They
imbibed with freedom.
The carriage was very dark, the lamp 'moved like a moon in a wane,' as
Merton might have quoted in happier circumstances. The rough customers
glared at him, but his cap had a peak, and he wore his comforter high.
'Man, ye're the kind o' lad I like,' said one of the rough customers.
'A' freens!' said Merton, again applying himself to the bottle, and
passing it. 'Ony ither gentleman tak' a sook?' asked Merton, including
all the passengers in his hospitable glance. 'Nane o' ye dry?
'Oh! fill yer ain glass,
And let the jug pass,
Hoo d'ye ken but yer neighbour's dry?'
Merton carolled.
'Thon's no a Scotch lilt,' remarked one of the roughs.
'A ken it's Irish,' said Merton. 'But, billie, the whusky's Scotch!'
The train slowed and the old gentleman got out. From the platform he
stormed at Merton.
'Ye're no an awakened character, ma freend,' answered Merton. 'Gude
nicht to ye! Gie ma love to the gude wife and the weans!'
The train pursued her course.
'Aw 'm saying, billie, aw 'm saying,' remarked one of the roughs,
thrusting his dirty beard into Merton's face.
'Weel, _be_ saying,' said Merton.
'You're no Lairdie Bower, ye ken, ye haena the neb o' him.'
'And wha the deil said a _was_ Lairdie Bower? Aw 'm a Lanerick man.
Lairdie's at hame wi' a sair hoast,' answered Merton.
'But ye're wearing Lairdie Bower's auld big coat.'
'And what for no? Lairdie has anither coat, a brawer yin, and he lent me
the auld yin because the nichts is cauld, and I hae a hoast ma'sel! Div
_ye_ ken Lairdie Bower? I've been wi' his auld faither and the lasses
half the day, but speakin's awfu' dry work.'
Here Merton repeated the bottle trick, and showed symptoms of going to
sleep, his head rolling on to the shoulder of the rough.
'Haud up, man!' said the rough, withdrawing the support.
'A' freens here,' remarked Merton, drawing a dirty clay pipe from his
pocket. 'Hae ye a spunk?'
The rough provided him with a match, and he killed some time, while
Preston Pans was passed, in filling and lighting his pipe.
'Ye're a Lanerick man?' asked the inquiring rough.
'Ay, a Hamilton frae Moss End. But I'm taking the play. Ma auld tittie
has dee'd and left me some siller,' Merton dragged a handful of dirty
notes out of his trousers pocket. 'I've been to see the auld Bowers, but
Lairdie was on the shift.'
'And ye're ganging to Embro?'
'When we cam' into Embro Toon
We were a seemly sicht to see;
Ma luve was in the--