Jaikie assumed an air of awful secrecy.
“I’m not so sure. I’m not—so sure—about that.” He thrust his face closer to the other’s. “The man is not doing it because he likes it. There must be a reason… I’m going to find out what that reason is… I’ve maybe found it.”
He spoke thickly, but coherently enough. He did not want Allins to think that he was drunk—only excited and voluble.
“Have another drink?”
“Don’t mind if I do. Another b-brandy. It must be the last, all the same, or I’ll never get out of this hotel… What was I saying? Oh, ay! About Craw. Well, isn’t it ridiculous that he should behave like an old ostrich? Ay, an ostrich. He locks his lodge gates and lets nobody inside his house, but half the pop’lation of the Canonry might get in by the park… What’s Friday? I mean the day after the morn. It’s the polling day. The folk up there will all be down at Portaway voting, and they’ll make a day of it—ay, and a night of it… Man, it would be a grand joke to explore Castle Gay that night. Ye could hold up Craw in his lair—no harm meant, if ye understand, but just to frighten him, and see how he likes publicity. It’s what he’s made his millions by, but he’s queer and feared of a dose of it himself.”
“Why don’t you try?” said Allins.
“Because I must think of my job. There might be a regrettable incident, ye see, and I’m not wanting to be fired. Not yet… Besides… “
“Yes?”
“Besides, that kind of ploy wouldn’t get me much forward. I want to find out what Craw’s feared of, for he’s damned feared of something. And the key to it is not in Castle Gay.”
Allins was listening intently, and did not notice the small moan which came from the sleeping Woolworth as something cold splashed in the vicinity of his tail.
“Where?” he asked.
Jaikie leaned towards him and spoke in a thick whisper.
“Did you ever hear of a place called Knockraw?”
“No,” said Allins.
“Well, it’s next door to Castle Gay. And there’s some funny folk there. Foreigners… I’ve nothing against foreigners. Ye’re maybe one yourself. Ye speak a wee thing like it… But the Knockraw foreigners are a special kind, and they’ve got some hold on Craw. I don’t yet know what it is, but I’ll find out. Never fear, I’ll find out. I’ve been hanging about Knockraw these last days, and if I liked I could tell ye some queer tales.”
Jaikie suddenly raised his eyes to the clock on the wall and gave a violent start.
“Govey Dick! It’s close on four! Here! I must go. I can’t sit havering any longer, for I’ve some stuff to get off with the post… I’m much obliged to ye. It’s been very enjoyable. Ye’ll keep your mouth shut about what I’ve told ye, for I’m not wanting to get into Craw’s black books.”
He rose slowly to his feet and steadied himself by the table. Allins rose also and held out his hand.
“This has been a very pleasant meeting, Mr Galt,” he said. He had got the name from the head-porter’s message. “I wonder if I could persuade you to repeat it quite soon. This very evening, in fact. I am staying with some friends at the Hydropathic. Could you drop in for a light supper about ten o’clock? We are strangers in Scotland, and should like to hear more from you about local politics—and journalism—and Mr Craw.”
“I don’t mind if I do. But the Hydropathic’s black teetotal.”
Allins smiled. “We have means of getting over that difficulty. Ten o’clock sharp. Will you ask for Mr Louvain? That will be splendid. Au revoir.”
Jaikie made his way delicately through the lounge as if he were carrying egg-shell china, followed by Woolworth, who paused occasionally to shake himself and who smelt strongly of spirits.
Jaikie dined at the Green Tree, but first he wrote and despatched a letter to Dougal by the country post. He had still no word of the missing Craw. The letter said little, for he did not believe in committing himself on paper, but it asked that Dougal and Barbon and Dickson McCunn should be at the Mains on the following afternoon about three o’clock, and that the Mains party should also muster in full strength. “We must consult,” Jaikie wrote, “for I’m anxious about Friday.”
After dinner he put in an hour at a Unionist meeting, which was poorly attended, but which convinced him that the candidate of that party would win, since—so he argued—the non-political voters who did not go to meetings and made up the bulk of the electorate were probably on his side. Then he went for a walk along the Callowa banks. For the first time in this enterprise he was feeling a little nervous. He was about to meet a type of man of whom he knew nothing, and so much hung on the meeting. At five minutes to ten he turned up the hill towards the Hydropathic. He asked Grierson, the head-porter, for Mr Louvain. “I’ll send up and see if they’re expecting ye,” was the answer. “They’re queer folk, foreigners, and I daurna take ony liberties.” The message came down that Mr Louvain was awaiting Mr Galt, and Jaikie ascended to the second floor and was shown into a large sitting-room.
A table was laid with a cold supper, and on another stood a little grove of champagne bottles. There were seven men in the room, and they were talking volubly in a foreign tongue when Jaikie entered. All wore dinner jackets, so that Jaikie’s shabbiness was accentuated. Allins came forward with outstretched hand. “This is very good of you, Mr Galt. Let me present you to my friends.”
Names were named, at each of which Jaikie bobbed his head and said, “Pleased to meet ye,” but they were not the names which Casimir had spoken at Knockraw. Still he could identify them, for the description of the head-porter had been accurate. There was Dedekind, and Ricci, who looked like a groom, and Calaman, and the Jew Rosenbaum, and the nameless nondescript; at the back there was the smiling and formidable face of Mastrovin.
This last spoke. “I have seen Mr Galt before—at a Socialist meeting in this town. He is, I think, a friend of my friend Antrobus.”
“Red Davie,” said Jaikie. “Ay, I know him a little. Is he still in Portaway?”
“Unfortunately he had to leave this morning. He had a conference to attend in Holland.”
Jaikie was relieved to hear it. Red Davie knew things about him— Cambridge and such like—which were inconsistent with his present character.
They sat down to supper, and Jaikie toyed with a plate of cold chicken and ham. The others drank champagne, but Jaikie chose beer. He wanted a long drink, for his nervousness had made him thirsty.
The interrogation began at once. There was no pretence of a general interest in British journalism or the politics of the Canonry. These men had urgent business on hand, and had little time to waste. But Mastrovin thought it right to offer a short explanation.
“We do not know Mr Craw,” he said, “except by repute. But we are a little anxious about him, for we know something about the present tenants of the place you call Knocknaw—Knockraw—or whatever it is. It is fortunate, perhaps, that we should be travelling in Scotland at this time. I understand that you take an interest in Knockraw and have been making certain inquiries. Will you describe the present occupants of the house?”
“Here! Play fair!” said Jaikie. “I’m a journalist and I’m following my own stunt. I don’t see why I should give away my results to anybody.”
His manner was that of a man who realises that in the past he has been a little drunk and a little too communicative, and who is now resolved to be discreet.
Mastrovin’s heavy brows descended. He said something to Allins and Allins whispered a reply, which Jaikie caught. Now Jaikie was no great linguist,