Spy & Mystery Collection: Major-General Hannay Novels, Dickson McCunn Trilogy & Sir Edward Leithen Series (Complete Edition). Buchan John
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you can keep it concealed, for Newhover is not likely to search your pockets. Don’t use it, of course, but it may be a comfort to you to know that you have it.’
He took it gladly. ‘Don’t be afraid I’ll use it. What I’m keeping for Newhover is the best hiding man ever had. He’s a bit above my weight, but I don’t mind that.’
Very early next morning we woke Mercot, and, while the sky was turning from sapphire to turquoise, took our way through the hazy meadows and up the Snaasen track. We left it at the summit, and fetched a circuit round by the back of the saeter, but first we made Mercot roll in the thicket till he had a very grubby face and plenty of twigs and dust in his untidy hair. Then the two of us shook hands with him, found a lair in a patch of juniper, and watched him go forward.
A forlorn figure he looked in that cold half-light as he approached the saeter door. But he was acting his part splendidly, for he stumbled with fatigue, dropped heavily against the door, and beat on it feebly. It seemed a long time till it opened, and then he appeared to shrink back in terror. The old woman cried out shrilly to summon someone from within, and presently Newhover came out in a dressing-gown. He caught Mercot by the shoulder and shook him, and that valiant soul behaved exactly like a lunatic, shielding his head and squealing like a rabbit. Finally we saw him dragged indoors… It was horrible to leave him like that, but I comforted myself with the thought of what Newhover would be like in five weeks’ time.
We raced back to Peter Bojer’s and after a hasty breakfast started off for Hauge. I settled with Gaudian that he was to report any developments to me by cable, and I was to do the same to him. When the day of release was fixed, he was to go boldly tip to Snaasen and deal with the doctor as he liked, making sure that he could not communicate with Medina for a day or two. A motor-launch would be waiting at Merdal to take the two to Stavanger, for I wanted him to see Mercot on board the English steamer. I arranged, too, that he should be supplied with adequate funds, for Mercot had not a penny.
We pushed off at once, for I had to be at Flacksholm in good time, and as the morning advanced I did not feel so sure of the weather. What wind we had had these last days had been mild breezes from the west, but now it seemed to be shifting more to the north, and increasing in vehemence. Down in that deep-cut fjord it was calm enough, but up on the crest of the tableland on the northern shore I could see that it was blowing hard, for my glass showed me little tourmentes of snow. Also it had suddenly got much colder. I made Johan force the pace, and early in the afternoon we were out of the shelter of the rock walls in the inlet into which the fjord broadened. Here it was blowing fairly hard, and there was a stiff sea running. Flying squalls of rain beat down on us from the north, and for five minutes or so,would shut out the view. It was a regular gusty April day, such as you find in spring salmon-fishing in Scotland, and had my job been merely to catch the boat to Stavanger I should not have minded it at all. But there was no time for the boat, for in little more than twenty-four hours I had to meet Medina. I wondered if Archie Roylance had turned up. I wondered still more how an aeroplane was to make the return journey over these stormy leagues of sea.
Presently the low green lines of Flacksholm showed through the spray, and when Johan began to shape his course to the south-west for Stavanger, I bade him go straight forward and land me on the island. I told him I had a friend who was camping there, and that we were to be picked up in a day or two by an English yacht. Johan obviously thought me mad, but he did as he was told. ‘There will be no one on the island yet,’ he said. ‘The farmer from Rosmaer does not come till June, when the hay-making begins. The winter pasture is poor and sour.’ That was all to the good, for I did not want any spectator of our madness.
As we drew nearer I could see no sign of life on the low shore, except an infinity of eider-ducks, and a fine osprey which sat on a pointed rock like a heraldic griffin. I was watching the bird, for I had only seen an osprey twice before, when Johan steered me into a creek, where there was deep water alongside a fiat reef. This, he told me, was the ordinary landing-place from the mainland. I flung my suit-case and rucksack on shore, said good-bye to Johan and tipped him well, and watched the little boat ploughing south till it was hidden by a squall. Then, feeling every kind of a fool, I seized my baggage and proceeded, like Robinson Crusoe, into the interior.
It was raining steadily, a fine thin rain, and every now and then a squall would burst on me and rule the sea. Jolly weather for flying, I reflected, especially for flying over some hundreds of miles of ocean!… I found the farm, a few rough wooden buildings and a thing like a stone cattle-pen, but there was no sign of human life there. Then I got out my map, and concluded that I had better make for the centre of the island, where there seemed to be some flat ground at one end of the loch. I was feeling utterly depressed, walking like a bagman with my kit in my hand in an uninhabited Norwegian isle, and due in London the next evening. London seemed about as inaccessible in the time as the moon.
When I got to the rim of the central hollow there was a brief clearing of the weather, and I looked down on a little grey tarn, set in very green meadows. In the meadows at the north end I saw to my joy what looked like an aeroplane picketed down, and a thing like a small tent near it. Also I could see smoke curling up from a group of boulders adjoining. The gallant Archie had arrived, and my spirits lightened. I made good going down the hill, and, as I shouted, a figure like an Arctic explorer crawled out of the tent.
‘Hullo, Dick,’ it cried. ‘Any luck?’
‘Plenty,’ I said. ‘And you?’
‘Famous. Got here last night after a clinkin’ journey with the bus behavin’ like a lamb. Had an interesting evenin’ with the birds—Lord! such a happy huntin’-ground for ‘em. I’ve been doin’ sentry—go on the tops all mornin’ lookin’ for you, but the weather got dirty, so I returned to the wigwam. Lunch is nearly ready.’
‘What about the weather?’ I asked anxiously.
‘Pas si bête,’ he said, sniffing. ‘The wind is pretty sure to go down at sunset. D’you mind a night journey?’
Archie’s imperturbable good humour cheered me enormously. I must say he was a born campaigner, for he had made himself very snug, and gave me as good a meal as I have ever eaten—a hot stew of tinned stuff and curry, a plum-pudding, and. an assortment of what he called ‘delicatessen.’ To keep out the cold we drank benedictine in horn mugs. He could talk about nothing but his blessed birds, and announced that he meant to come back to Flacksholm and camp for a week. He had seen a special variety—some kind of phalarope—that fairly ravished his heart. When I asked questions about the journey ahead of us, he scarcely deigned to answer, so busy he was with speculation on the feathered fauna of Norway.
‘Archie,’ I said, ‘are you sure you can get me across the North Sea?’
‘I won’t say “sure.” There’s always a lottery in this game, but with any luck we ought to manage it. The wind will die down, and besides it’s a ground wind, and may be quiet enough a few hundred feet up. We’ll have to shape a compass course anyhow, so that darkness won’t worry us.’
‘What about the machine?’ I asked. I don’t know why, but I felt horribly nervous.
‘A beauty. But of course you never know. if. we were driven much out of a straight course, our petrol might run short.’
‘What would that mean?’
‘Forced landin.”
‘But supposing we hadn’t reached land?’
‘Oh, then we’d be for it,’ said Archie cheerfully. He added, as if to console me: ‘We might be picked up by a passin’ steamer or a fishin’ smack. I’ve known fellows that had that luck.’
‘What are the chances of our getting over safely?’
‘Evens. Never better or worse than evens in this flyin’ business. But it will be all right. Dash it all, a woodcock makes the trip constantly in one flight.’
After that I asked no more’ questions, for I knew I could not get him past the woodcock. I was not feeling happy, but Archie’s calm put me to shame. We had a very good tea, and then,