On arriving at the Castle Logan and Merton found poor Mr. Macrae
comparatively cheerful. Bude and Lady Bude had told what they had
gleaned, and the millionaire, recognising his daughter's hair-pin, had
all but broken down. Lady Bude herself had wept as he thanked her for
this first trace, this endearing relic, of the missing girl, and he
warmly welcomed Merton, who had detected the probable meaning of the
enigmatic 'Seven Hunters.'
'It is to _you_,' he said, 'Mr. Merton, that I owe the intelligence of my
daughter's life and probable comfort.'
Lady Bude caught Merton's eye; one of hers was slightly veiled by her
long lashes.
The telegrams of the day had only brought the usual stories of the
fruitless examination of yachts, and of hopes unfulfilled and clues that
led to nothing. The outermost islets were being searched, and a steamer
had been sent to St. Kilda. At home Mr. Gianesi had explained to Mr.
Macrae that he and his partner were forced, reluctantly, by the nature of
the case, to suspect treason within their own establishment in London, a
thing hitherto unprecedented. They had therefore installed a new machine
in a carefully locked chamber at their place, and Mr. Gianesi was ready
at once to set up a corresponding recipient engine at Castle Skrae. Mr.
Macrae wished first to remove the machine in the smoking-room, but Blake
ventured to suggest that it had better be left where it was.
'The conspirators,' he said, 'have made one blunder already, by
mentioning "The Seven Hunters," unless, indeed, that was intentional;
they _may_ have meant to lighten our anxiety, without leaving any useful
clue. They may make another mistake: in any case it is as well to be in
touch with them.'
At this moment the smoking-room machine began to tick and emitted a
message. It ran, 'Glad you visited the Hunters. You see we do ourselves
very well. Hope you drank our health, we left some bottles of champagne
on purpose. No nasty feeling, only a matter of business. Do hurry up
and come to terms.'
'Impudent dogs!' said Mr. Macrae. 'But I think you are right, Mr. Blake;
we had better leave these communications open.'
Mr. Gianesi agreed that Blake had spoken words of wisdom. Merton felt
surprised at his practical common sense. It was necessary to get another
pole to erect on the roof of the observatory, with another box at top for
the new machine, but a flagstaff from the Castle leads was found to serve
the purpose, and the rest of the day was passed in arranging the
installation, the new machine being placed in Mr. Merton's own study.
Before dinner was over, Mr. Gianesi, who worked like a horse, was able to
announce that all was complete, and that a brief message, 'Yours
received, all right,' had passed through from his firm in London.
Soon after dinner Blake retired to his room; his head was still
suffering, and he could not bear smoke. Gianesi and Mr. Macrae were in
the Castle, Mr. Macrae feverishly reading the newspaper speculations on
the melancholy affair: leading articles on Science and Crime, the
potentialities of both, the perils of wealth, and such other thoughts as
occurred to active minds in Fleet Street. Gianesi's room was in the
observatory, but he remained with Mr. Macrae in case he might be needed.
Merton and Logan were alone in the smoking-room, where Bude left them
early.
'Now, Merton,' said Logan, 'you are going to come on in the next scene.
Have you a revolver?'
'Heaven forbid!' said Merton.
'Well, I have! Now this is what you are to do. We shall both turn in
about twelve, and make a good deal of clatter and talk as we do so. You
will come with me into my room. I'll hand you the revolver, loaded,
silently, while we talk fishing shop with the door open. Then you will
go rather noisily to your room, bang the door, take off your shoes, and
slip out again--absolutely noiselessly--back into the smoking-room. You
see that window in the embrasure here, next the door, looking out towards
the loch? The curtain is drawn already, you will go on the window-seat
and sit tight! Don't fall asleep! I shall give you my portable electric
lamp for reading in the train. You may find it useful. Only don't fall
asleep. When the row begins I shall come on.'
'I see,' said Merton. 'But look here! Suppose you slip out of your own
room, locking the door quietly, and into mine, where you can snore, you
know--I snore myself--in case anybody takes a fancy to see whether I am
asleep? Leave your dog in your own room, _he_ snores, all Spanish bull-
dogs do.'
'Yes, that will serve,' said Logan. 'Merton, your mind is not wholly
inactive.'
They had some whisky and soda-water, and carried out the manoeuvres on
which they had decided.
Merton, unshod, silently re-entered the smoking-room, his shoes in his
hand; Logan as tactfully occupied Merton's room, and then they waited.
Presently, the smoking-room door being slightly ajar, Merton heard Logan
snoring very naturally; the Spanish bull-dog was yet more sonorous.
Gianesi came in, walked upstairs to his bedroom, and shut his door; in
half an hour he also was snoring; it was a nasal trio.
Merton 'drove the night along,' like Dr. Johnson, by repeating Latin and
other verses. He dared not turn on the light of his portable electric
lamp and read; he was afraid to smoke; he heard the owls towhitting and
towhooing from the woods, and the clock on the Castle tower striking the
quarters and the hours.
One o'clock passed, two o'clock passed, a quarter after two, then the
bell of the wireless machine rang, the machine began to tick; Merton sat
tight, listening. All the curtains of the windows were drawn, the room
was almost perfectly dark; the snorings had sometimes lulled, sometimes
revived. Merton lay behind the curtains on the window-seat, facing the
door. He knew, almost without the help of his ears, that the door was
slowly, slowly opening. Something entered, something paused, something
stole silently towards the wireless machine, and paused again. Then a
glow suffused the further end of the room, a disc of electric light,
clearly from a portable lamp. A draped form, in deep shadow, was exposed
to Merton's view. He stole forward on tiptoe with noiseless feet; he
leaped on the back of the figure, threw his left arm round its neck,
caught its right wrist in a grip of steel, and yelled:
'Mr. Eachain of the Hairy Arm, if I am not mistaken!'
At the same moment there came a click, the electric light was switched
on, Logan bounced on to the figure, tore away a revolver from the right
hand of which Merton held the wrist, and the two fell on the floor above
a struggling Highland warrior in the tartans of the Macraes. The figure
was thrown on its face.
'Got you now, Mr. Blake!' said Logan, turning the head to the light. 'D---
n!' he added; 'it is Gianesi! I thought we had the Irish minstrel.'
The figure only snarled, and swore in Italian.
'First thing, anyhow, to tie him up,' said Logan, producing a serviceable
cord.
Both Logan and Merton were muscular men, and presently had the intruder
tightly swathed in inextricable knots and gagged in a homely but
sufficient fashion.
'Now, Merton,' said Logan, 'this is a bitter disappointment! From your
dream, or vision, of Eachain of the Hairy Arm, it was clear to me that
somebody, the poet for choice, had heard the yarn of the Highland ghost,
and was masquerading in the kilt for the purpose of tampering with the
electric dodge and communicating with the kidnappers. Apparently I owe
the bard an apology. You'll sit on this fellow's chest while I go and
bring Mr. Macrae.'
'A message has come in on the machine,' said Merton.
'Well, he can read it; it is not our affair.'
Logan went off; Merton poured out a glass of Apollinaris water, added a
little whisky, and lit a cigarette. The figure on the floor wriggled;
Merton put the revolver which the man had dropped and Logan's pistol into
a drawer of the writing-table, which he locked.
'I do detest all that cheap revolver business,' said Merton.
The row had awakened Logan's dog, which was howling dolefully in the
neighbouring room.
'Queer situation, eh?' said Merton to the prostrate figure.
Hurrying footsteps climbed the stairs; Mr. Macrae (with a shot-gun) and
Logan entered.
Mr. Macrae all but embraced Merton. 'Had I a son, I could have wished
him to be like you,' he said; 'but my poor boy--' his voice broke. Merton
had not known before that the millionaire had lost a son. He did
understand, however, that the judicious Logan had given _him_ the whole
credit of the exploit, for reasons too obvious to Merton.
'Don't thank _me_,' he was saying, when Logan interrupted:
'Don't you think, Mr. Macrae, you had better examine the message that has
just come in?'
Mr. Macrae read, 'Glad they found the hair-pin, it will console the old
boy. Do not quite see how to communicate, if Gianesi, who, you say, has
arrived, removes the machine.'
'Look here,' cried Merton, 'excuse my offering advice, but we ought, I
think, to send for Donald Macdonald _at once_. We must flash back a
message to those brutes, so they may think they are still in
communication with the traitor in our camp. That beast on the floor
could work it, of course, but he would only warn _them_; we can't check
him. We must use Donald, and keep them thinking that they are sending
news to the traitor.'
'But, by Jove,' said Logan, 'they have heard from _him_, whoever he is,
since Bude came back, for they know about the finding of the hair-pin.
You,' he said to the wretched captive, 'have you been at this machine?'
The man, being gagged, only gasped.
'There's this, too,' said Merton, 'the senders of the last message
clearly think that Gianesi is against them. If Gianesi removes the
machine, they say--'
Merton did not finish his sentence, he rushed out of the room. Presently
he hurried back. 'Mr. Macrae,' he said, 'Blake's door is locked. I
can't waken him, and, if he were in his room, the noise we have made must
have wakened him already. Logan, ungag that creature!'
Logan removed the gag.
'Who are _you_?' he asked.
The captive was silent.
'Mr. Macrae,' said Merton, 'may I run and bring Donald and the other
servants here? Donald must work the machine at once, and we must break
in Blake's door, and, if he is off, we must rouse the country after him.'
Mr. Macrae seemed almost dazed, the rapid sequence of unusual
circumstances being remote from his experience. In spite of the blaze of
electric light, the morning was beginning to steal into the room; the
refreshments on the table looked oddly dissipated, there was a heavy
stale smell of tobacco, and of whisky from a bottle that had been upset
in the struggle. Mr. Macrae opened a window and inhaled the fresh air
from the Atlantic.
This revived him. 'I'll ring the alarm bell,' he said, and, putting a
small key to an unnoticed keyhole in a panel, he opened a tiny door,
thrust in his hand, and pressed a knob. Instantly from the Castle tower
came the thunderous knell of the alarm. 'I had it put in in case of fire
or burglars,' explained the millionaire, adding automatically, 'every
modern improvement.'
In a few minutes the servants and gillies had gathered, hastily clad;
they were met by Logan, who briefly bade some bring hammers, and the
caber, or pine-tree trunk that is tossed in Highland sports. It would
make a good battering-ram. Donald Macdonald he sent at once to Mr.
Macrae. He met Bude and Lady Bude, and rapidly explained that there was
no danger of fire. The Countess went back to her rooms, Bude returned
with Logan into the observatory. Here they found Donald telegraphing to
the conspirators, by the wireless engine, a message dictated by Merton:
'Don't be alarmed about communications. I have got them to leave our
machine in its place on the chance that you might say something that
would give you away. Gianesi suspects nothing. Wire as usual, at about
half-past two in the morning, when you mean it for me.'
'That ought to be good enough,' said Logan approvingly, while the hammers
and the caber, under Mr. Macrae's directions, were thundering on the door
of Blake's room. The door, which was very strong, gave way at last with
a crash; in they burst. The room was empty, a rope fastened to the
ironwork of the bedstead showed the poet's means of escape, for a long
rope-ladder swung from the window. On the table lay a letter directed to
_Thomas Merton, Esq_.,
_care of Ronald Macrae, Esq_.,
_Castle Skrae_.
Mr. Macrae took the letter, bidding Benson, the butler, search the room,
and conveyed the epistle to Merton, who opened it. It ran thus:--
'DEAR MERTON,--As a man of the world, and slightly my senior, you must
have expected to meet me in the smoking-room to-night, or at least
Lord Fastcastle probably entertained that hope. I saw that things
were getting a little too warm, and made other arrangements. It is a
little hard on the poor fellow whom you have probably mauled, if you
have not shot each other. As he has probably informed you, he is not
Mr. Gianesi, but a dismissed _employe_, whom we enlisted, and whom I
found it desirable to leave behind me. These discomforts will occur;
I myself did not look for so severe an assault as I suffered down at
the cove on Sunday evening. The others carried out their parts only
too conscientiously in my case. You will not easily find an
opportunity of renewing our acquaintance, as I slit and cut the tyres
of all the motors, except that on which I am now retiring from
hospitable Castle Skrae, having also slit largely the tyres of the
bicycles. Mr. Macrae's new wireless machine has been rendered useless
by my unfortunate associate, and, as I have rather spiked all the
wheeled conveyances (I could not manage to scuttle the yacht), you
will be put to some inconvenience to re-establish communications. By
that time my trail will be lost. I enclose a banknote for 10_l_.,
which pray, if you would oblige me, distribute among the servants at
the Castle. Please thank Mr. Macrae for all his hospitality. Among
my books you may find something to interest you. You may keep my
manuscript poems.
Very faithfully yours,
GERALD BLAKE.'
'P. S.--The genuine Gianesi will probably arrive at Lairg to-morrow.
My unfortunate associate (whom I cannot sufficiently pity), relieved
him of his ingenious machine _en_ _route_, and left him, heavily
drugged, in a train bound for Fort William. Or perhaps Gianesi may
come by sea to Loch Inver. G.B.'
When Merton had read this elegant epistle aloud, Benson entered, bearing
electrical apparatus which had been found in the book boxes abandoned by
Blake. What he had done was obvious enough. He had merely smuggled in,
in his book boxes, a machine which corresponded with that of the
kidnappers, and had substituted its mechanism for that supplied to Mr.
Macrae by Gianesi and Giambresi. This he must have arranged on the
Saturday night, when Merton saw the kilted appearance of Eachain of the
Hairy Arm. A few metallic atoms from the coherer on the floor of the
smoking-room had caught Merton's eye before breakfast on Sunday morning.
Now it was Friday morning! And still no means of detecting and capturing
the kidnappers had been discovered.
Out of the captive nothing could be extracted. The room had been
cleared, save for Mr. Macrae, Logan, and Bude, and the man had been
interrogated. He refused to answer any questions, and demanded to be
taken before a magistrate. Now, where was there a magistrate?
Logan lighted the smoking-room fire, thrust the poker into it, and began
tying hard knots in a length of cord, all this silently. His brows were
knit, his lips were set, in his eye shone the wild light of the blood of
Restalrig. Bude and Mr. Macrae looked on aghast.
'What _are_ you about?' asked Merton.
'There are methods of extracting information from reluctant witnesses,'
snarled Logan.
'Oh, bosh!' said Merton. 'Mr. Macrae cannot permit you to revive your
ancestral proceedings.'
Logan threw down his knotted cord. 'I beg your pardon, Mr. Macrae,' he
said, 'but if I had that dog in my house of Kirkburn--' he then went out.
'Lord Fastcastle is a little moved,' said Merton. 'He comes of a wild
stock, but I never saw him like this.'
Mr. Macrae allowed that the circumstances were unusual.
A horrible thought occurred to Merton. 'Mr. Macrae,' he exclaimed, 'may
I speak to you privately? Bude, I dare say, will be kind enough to
remain with that person.'
Mr. Macrae followed Merton into the billiard-room.
'My dear sir,' said the pallid Merton, 'Logan and I have made a terrible
blunder! We never doubted that, if we caught any one, our captive would
be Blake. I do not deny that this man is his accomplice, but we have
literally no proof. He may persist, if taken before a magistrate, that
he is Gianesi. He may say that, being in your employment as an
electrician, he naturally entered the smoking-room when the electric bell
rang. He can easily account for his possession of a revolver, in a place
where a mysterious crime has just been committed. As to the Highland
costume, he may urge that, like many Southrons, he had bought it to wear
on a Highland tour, and was trying it on. How can you keep him? You
have no longer the right of Pit and Gallows. Before what magistrate can
you take him, and where? The sheriff-substitute may be at Golspie, or
Tongue, or Dingwall, or I don't know where. What can we do? What have
we against the man? "Loitering with intent"? And here Logan and I have
knocked him down, and tied him up, and Logan wanted to torture him.'
'Dear Mr. Merton,' replied Mr. Macrae, with paternal tenderness, 'you are
overwrought. You have not slept all night. I must insist that you go to
bed, and do not rise till you are called. The man is certainly guilty of
conspiracy, that will be proved when the real Gianesi comes to hand. If
not, I do not doubt that I can secure his silence. You forget the power
of money. Make yourself easy, go to sleep; meanwhile I must re-establish
communications. Good-night, golden slumbers!'
He wrung Merton's hand, and left him admiring the calm resolution of one
whose conversation, 'in the mad pride of intellectuality,' he had
recently despised. The millionaire, Merton felt, was worthy to be his
daughter's father.
'The power of money!' mused Mr. Macrae; 'what is it in circumstances like
mine? Surrounded by all the resources of science, I am baffled by a
clever rogue and in a civilised country the aid of the law and the police
is as remote and inaccessible as in the Great Sahara! But to business!'
He sent for Benson, bade him, with some gillies, carry the prisoner into
the dungeon of the old castle, loose his bonds, place food before him,
and leave him in charge of the stalker. He informed Bude that breakfast
would be ready at eight, and then retired to his study, where he matured
his plans.
The yacht he would send to Lochinver to await the real Gianesi there, and
to send telegrams descriptive of Blake in all directions. Giambresi must
be telegraphed to again, and entreated to come in person, with yet
another electric machine, for that brought by the false Gianesi had been,
by the same envoy, rendered useless. A mounted man must be despatched to
Lairg to collect vehicles and transport there, and to meet the real
Gianesi if he came that way. Thus Mr. Macrae, with cool patience and
forethought, endeavoured to recover his position, happy in the reflection
that treachery had at last been eliminated. He did not forget to write
telegrams to remote sheriff-substitutes and procurators fiscal.
As to the kidnappers, he determined to amuse them with protracted
negotiations on the subject of his daughter's ransom. These would be
despatched, of course, by the wireless engine which was in tune and touch
with their own. During the parleyings the wretches might make some
blunder, and Mr. Macrae could perhaps think out some plan for their
detection and capture, without risk to his daughter. If not, he must pay
ransom.
Having written out his orders and telegrams, Mr. Macrae went downstairs
to visit the stables. He gave his commands to his servants, and, as he
returned, he met Logan, who had been on the watch for him.
'I am myself again, Mr. Macrae,' said Logan, smiling. 'After all, we are
living in the twentieth century, not the sixteenth, worse luck! And now
can you give me your attention for a few minutes?'
'Willingly,' said Mr. Macrae, and they walked together to a point in the
garden where they were secure from being overheard.
'I must ask you to lend me a horse to ride to Lairg and the railway at
once,' said Logan.
'Must you leave us? You cannot, I fear, catch the 12.50 train south.'
'I shall take a special train if I cannot catch the one I want,' said
Logan, adding, 'I have a scheme for baffling these miscreants and
rescuing Miss Macrae, while disappointing them of the monstrous ransom
which they are certain to claim. If you can trust me, you will enter
into protracted negotiations with them on the matter through the wireless
machine.'
'That I had already determined to do,' said the millionaire. 'But may I
inquire what is your scheme?'
'Would it be asking too much to request you to let me keep it concealed,
even from you? Everything depends on the most absolute secrecy. It must
not appear that you are concerned--must not be suspected. My plan has
been suggested to me by trifling indications which no one else has
remarked. It is a plan which, I confess, appears wild, but what is _not_
wild in this unhappy affair? Science, as a rule beneficent, has given
birth to potentialities of crime which exceed the dreams of oriental
romance. But science, like the spear of Achilles, can cure the wounds
which herself inflicts.'
Logan spoke calmly, but eloquently, as every reader must observe. He was
no longer the fierce Border baron of an hour agone, but the polished
modern gentleman. The millionaire marked the change.
'Any further mystery cannot but be distasteful, Lord Fastcastle,' said
Mr. Macrae.
'The truth is,' said Logan, 'that if my plan takes shape important
persons and interests will be involved. I myself will be involved, and,
for reasons both public and private, it seems to me to the last degree
essential that you should in no way appear; that you should be able,
honestly, to profess entire ignorance. If I fail, I give you my word of
honour that your position will be in no respect modified by my action. If
I succeed--'
'Then you will, indeed, be my preserver,' said the millionaire.
'Not I, but my friend, Mr. Merton,' said Logan, 'who, by the way, ought
to accompany me. In Mr. Merton's genius for success in adventures
entailing a mystery more dark, and personal dangers far greater, than
those involved by my scheme (which is really quite safe), I have
confidence based on large experience. To Merton alone I owe it that I am
a married, a happy, and, speaking to any one but yourself, I might say an
affluent man. This adventure must be achieved, if at all, _auspice
Merton_.'
'I also have much confidence in him, and I sincerely love him,' said Mr.
Macrae, to the delight of Logan. He then paced silently up and down in
deep thought. 'You say that your scheme involves you in no personal
danger?' he asked.
'In none, or only in such as men encounter daily in several professions.
Merton and I like it.'
'And you will not suffer in character if you fail?'
'Certainly not in character; no gentleman of my coat ever entered on
enterprise so free from moral blame,' said Logan, 'since my ancestor and
namesake, Sir Robert, fell at the side of the good Lord James of Douglas,
above the Heart of Bruce.'
He thrilled and changed colour as he spoke.
'Yet it would not do for _me_ to be known to be connected with the
enterprise?' asked Mr. Macrae.
'Indeed it would not! Your notorious opulence would arouse ideas in the
public mind, ideas false, indeed, but fatally compromising.'
'I may not even subsidise the affair--put a million to Mr. Merton's
account?'
'In no sort! Afterwards, _after_ he succeeds, then I don't say, if
Merton will consent; but that is highly improbable. I know my friend.'
Mr. Macrae sighed deeply and remained pensive. 'Well,' he answered at
last, 'I accept your very gallant and generous proposal.'
'I am overjoyed!' said Logan. He had never been in such a big thing
before.
'I shall order my two best horses to be saddled after breakfast,' said
Mr. Macrae. 'You will bait at Inchnadampf.'
'Here is my address; this will always find me,' said Logan, writing
rapidly on a leaf of his note-book.
'You will wire all news of your negotiations with the pirates to me, by
the new wireless machine, when Giambresi brings it, and his firm in town
will telegraph it on to me, at the address I gave you, _in cypher_. To
save time, we must use a book cypher, we can settle it in the house in
ten minutes,' said Logan, now entirely in his element.
They chose _The Bonnie Brier Bush_, by Mr. Ian Maclaren--a work too
popular to excite suspicion; and arranged the method of secret
correspondence with great rapidity. Logan then rushed up to Merton's
room, hastily communicated the scheme to him, and overcame his
objections, nay, awoke in him, by his report of Mr. Macrae's words, the
hopes of a lover. They came down to breakfast, and arranged that their
baggage should be sent after them as soon as communications were
restored.
Merton contrived to have a brief interview with Lady Bude. Her joyous
spirit shone in her eyes.
'I do not know what Lord Fastcastle's plan is,' she said, 'but I wish you
good fortune. You have won the _father's_ heart, and now I am about to
be false to my sex'--she whispered--'the daughter's is all but your own!
I can help you a little,' she added, and, after warmly clasping both her
hands in his, Merton hurried to the front of the house, where the horses
stood, and sprang into the saddle. No motors, no bicycles, no scientific
vehicles to-day; the clean wind piped to him from the mountains; a good
steed was between his thighs! Logan mounted, after entrusting Bouncer to
Lady Bude, and they galloped eastwards.