“isn’t this a stupendous lark! Such a party in the drawing-room! A real live Pretender to a Throne—and very nice-looking! Freddy as anxious as a hen, and Dougal as cross as thunder—I’ve discovered that that’s Dougal’s way of showing nervousness! And Mr Craw! What have you done with Mr Craw? He’s as bold as brass, and nobody can manage him except Aunt Hatty… Jaikie, you’re very disreputable. I don’t like your clothes a bit. Where did you get that horrible scarf?”
“I was worse yesterday,” was all that Jaikie would say. “What I want to know is—have you kept Prince John indoors? And what about the servants? They mustn’t talk.”
“He has never put his head outside since he arrived yesterday— except for an hour after dark last night when I took him for a walk on the hill. The servants have nothing to talk about. We call him John, and pretend he is another Australian cousin like Robin. Freddy sent a groom to Knockraw to pick up his kit.”
“How did that go off?”
“All right. The groom went to the back door. There was a good deal of luggage—enough to fill the dogcart. He said he met a lot of people—a man in the avenue and several on the road. I suppose these were the spies?”
“The groom went straight to Castle Gay?”
“Yes. Middlemas arranged for getting the things over here after dark.”
“That was lucky. The sight of the luggage going to the Castle will have helped my reputation for speaking the truth, when the story gets to the Hydropathic this morning. You realise that all this neighbourhood is being watched?”
“Of course I do. It’s a delicious feeling. There’s been some very odd people in cars and on bicycles up the road, and Mackillop has hunted several out of the park.”
“Mackillop had better stop that,” said Jaikie. “For the next twenty-four hours it would be as well if the park were open to the public.”
“Are you serious?” Alison looked puzzled. “Come in at once and explain things. I’ve had a lot of trouble keeping our own lot quiet. Mr Craw has been rather above himself. That beloved Mr McCunn is my great ally. He said, ‘I’ll take no responsibility about anything till Jaikie comes. It’s Jaikie that’s got the sow by the lug.’”
Mrs Brisbane-Brown’s drawing-room was as bright and gracious in the October sun as when Jaikie had visited it a week ago. But then he had entered it with curiosity and trepidation; now it seemed too familiar to give a thought to; it was merely a background for various human beings with whom he had urgent business. The coffee cups were still in the room, and the men were smoking. Prince John wore the clothes he had worn the day before, and in the clear afternoon light looked more elegant than ever. He was talking to Charvill, who was much about his height, and looking up at them was Dickson McCunn in an ancient suit of knickerbockers, listening reverently. The hostess sat in her accustomed chair, busy at her usual needlework, and beside her was the anxious face of Mr Barbon. Dougal was deep in that day’s issue of the View. But the centre of the company was Mr Craw. He stood with his back to the fire, his legs a little apart, and his eyes on Mrs Brisbane-Brown. He seemed to have recovered his balance, for there was no apology or diffidence in his air. Rather it spoke of renewed authority. He had also recovered his familiar nattiness of attire. Gone were the deplorable garments provided by the Watermeeting innkeeper and the Portaway draper. He wore a neat grey suit with a white line in it, a grey tie with a pearl pin, and the smartest of tan shoes. His garb was almost festive.
“I am very glad to see you, Mr Galt,” said Mrs Brisbane-Brown. “You look a little the worse for wear. Have you had luncheon?… Well, you have been giving us all a good deal to think about. It looks as if the situation had rather got out of hand. Perhaps you can clear things up.”
Jaikie’s mild eyes scanned the party. He saw Dougal hungry for enlightenment, Mr Barbon fearful lest some new horror should be sprung upon him, Charvill prepared to be amused, Prince John smilingly careless as being used to odd adventures, Dickson puzzled but trustful, Mr Craw profoundly suspicious. He met their eyes in turn, and then he met Alison’s, and the lashes of one of hers drooped over her cheek in a conspirator’s wink.
“A week ago,” he said slowly, “I was given my instructions. I was told to find Mr Craw at the Back House of the Garroch and keep him hidden till the Evallonians left Knockraw. I have fulfilled them to the letter. There’s not a soul except ourselves knows where Mr Craw has been. Nobody has recognised him. The world believes that he’s living quietly at Castle Gay… And the Knockraw people by this time must be in London… “
Mrs Brisbane-Brown laughed. “A very good account of your stewardship… On the other side the situation can scarcely be said to have cleared. We have his Royal Highness here in close hiding, and a number of men in Portaway who mean every kind of mischief to him and to Mr Craw. The question is, what we are to do about it. This state of affairs cannot go on indefinitely.”
“It can’t,” said Jaikie. “It must be cleared up to-morrow night.”
“Will you please explain?”
“It all begins,” said Jaikie, “with the man Allins.”
“He is shockingly underbred,” said Mrs Brisbane-Brown. “I never understood why Mr Craw employed him. Poor Freddy can’t have been happy with him… You think he is something worse?”
“I can prove that he is a rogue,” said Jaikie calmly, and embarked on his tale.
He dealt first with Allins, recounting his meetings with him, from the Cambridge club to the episode of the previous day. He told the story well, and he purposely made Mr Craw the hero of it—Mr Craw’s encounter with Allins in the street, Mr Craw at the Socialist meeting, Mr Craw as a Communist orator. The hero was made a little self-conscious by the narrative, but he was also flattered. He became slightly pink and shifted his feet.
“What astonishing presence of mind!” said Mrs Brisbane-Brown. “I warmly congratulate you.”
“I must not be understood to have made a speech in favour of Communism,” said Mr Craw. “It was a speech condemnatory of official Socialism, showing its logical culmination.”
“Anyway, it did the trick,” said Jaikie. “Allins dropped his suspicions. Mr Craw’s disguise was pretty good in any case. You saw him yourself yesterday.”
“I did,” said Mrs Brisbane-Brown. “I thought he was the piano-tuner from Gledmouth, who is a little given to drink.”
Mr Craw frowned. “Will you continue, Mr Galt? Detail the suspicions you entertain about Mr Allins.”
“He brought the Evallonians to Knockraw, and was paid for it. We have it on their own testimony. He brought the other Evallonians to Portaway and is being paid for it. And the man is in a sweat of fear in case the plot fails. The price must be pretty big.”
“The plot! What is it? What evidence have you?”
“The evidence of my own eyes and ears. I spent part of yesterday afternoon with Allins, and two hours last night with him and his friends.”
Jaikie had an audience which hung on his lips while he told of how he had made himself ground-bait for the predatory fish. There was a good deal of the actor in him, and he did full justice to his alcoholic babblings of the afternoon, and the grim inquisition of the evening. He even allowed part of his motive to appear. “They called me a little rat,” he said meditatively.
“You
