“I’m much obliged to you gentlemen for your hospitality. We’ve had a great crack, but for God’s sake keep it to yourselves… I’ve maybe said more than I should have, but it’s your blame for leading me on… I want ye to promise that ye’ll never mention my name. If it came out that I had been spending my time nosing into his private affairs, Craw would fire me like a shot… And he doesn’t pay badly.”
“You need not worry, Mr Galt,” said Mastrovin. “We are not loquacious people. Let me recommend you to be equally silent—especially in your cups.”
“Never fear. I’ll take care of that.” Jaikie gave an imbecile giggle, bobbed his head to the company, and took his leave. Allins did not offer his hand or trouble to open the door. They had had all that they wanted from this bibulous, babbling, little reporter.
At the door of the Hydropathic Jaikie remembered suddenly that they had promised to remunerate him for his confidences. He wished he had collected his fee, for he believed in taking every opportunity of spoiling the Egyptians. But he could do nothing now. He was as one who had escaped from the cave of Polyphemus, and it would be folly to go back for his hat.
At the Green Tree he found a note which had been brought by a boy on a bicycle. “Dear Jaikie,” he read, “set your mind at ease. Mr Craw is here at the Mains, being lectured by Aunt Harriet. You have made him twice the man he was. Love from Alison.”
He read this missive at least eight times. Then he put it carefully into his pocket-book and laid the pocket-book under his pillow. Last night, though that pocket-book contained fifty pounds in Treasury notes, it had lain casually on his dressing-table.
CHAPTER 17
JAIKIE OPENS HIS COMMUNICATIONS
Jaikie slept like a log and awoke next morning in high spirits. These were mainly attributable to Alison’s letter, which he re-read many times while he dressed. She had called him “Jaikie” on paper; she had sent him her love: the whole enterprise was a venture of his and Alison’s—the others were only lay figures. At breakfast he had some slight uneasiness as to whether he had not been a little too clever. Had he not given too much rein to his ingenuity?… He had prevented Prince John joining the others in their midnight flitting. No doubt it was in a general way desirable to scatter in a flight, but he could not conceal from himself that the Prince might now be safe in the English midlands, whereas he was still in the very heart of danger. Well, he had had a reason for that, which he thought Alison would appreciate… And he had gone out of his way to invite an assault on Castle Gay. He had his reason for that, too, many reasons, but the chief, as he confessed to himself, was the desire for revenge. He had been threatened, and to Jaikie a threat was a challenge.
He spent half an hour in cleansing Woolworth, whose alcoholic flavour the passage of hours had not diminished. His bedroom had smelt like a public house. First he borrowed big scissors from Mrs Fairweather, and clipped the little dog’s shaggy fleece and his superabundant beard and whiskers. Then he washed him, protesting bitterly, with soap and hot water, and dried him before the kitchen fire. He made a few alterations in his own get-up. The stiff collar and flamboyant tie of yesterday were discarded, and for neckwear he used a very faded blue scarf, which he tied in the kind of knot affected by loafers who have no pride in their appearance. He might meet Allins or one of the Evallonians in the street, and he had no desire to be recognised. He looked now, he flattered himself, like a young artisan in his working clothes, and to complete the part he invested in an unfashionably shaped cap.
Attended by the shorn and purified Woolworth, he made for the railway station. Portaway, as has been explained, is an important main-line station, but it is also the junction for a tiny single-line railway which runs down the side of the Callowa estuary to the decayed burgh of Fallatown. Once Fallatown was a flourishing port, with a large trade to the Cumberland shore and the Isle of Man, a noted smuggling centre, and the spot from which great men had taken ship in great crises. Now the ancient royal burgh is little more than a hamlet, with a slender fishing industry, a little boat-building, and one small distillery. Jaikie did not propose to go as far as Fallatown, but to stop at the intermediate station of Rinks, where he had some business with a friend.
He crossed the bridge and reached the station without mischance. The rain of the preceding day had gone, and had left one of those tonic October mornings which are among the delicacies of Scottish weather. There was no frost, the air was bracing and yet mild, the sky was an even blue, the distances as sharp as April. From the bridge Jaikie saw the top of the great Muneraw twenty-five miles distant, with every wrinkle clear on its bald face. The weather gave an edge to his good spirits. He bought a third-class return ticket for Rinks, and walked to the far end of the station, to the small siding where the Fallatown train lay, as if he had not a care in the world.
There he got a bad fright. For among the few people on the little platform was Allins, smoking a cigar outside a first-class carriage.
Jaikie hastily retreated. Why on earth was Allins travelling to Fallatown? More important, how on earth was he to escape his notice at such close quarters? At all costs Allins must not know of his visit to Rinks.
He retreated to the booking-office, and at an adjoining bookstall bought a paper with the notion that he might open it to cover his face. In the booking-office was a large comely woman of about thirty, much encumbered with a family. She carried an infant in one arm, and a gigantic basket in the other, and four children of ages from four to ten clung to her skirts. Apparently she desired to buy a ticket and found it difficult to get at her purse because of the encumbrance in her arms. “I want three return tickets to Fallatown,” she was telling the clerk, while she summoned the oldest child to her aid. “Hector Alexander, see if you can get Mither’s purse oot o’ Mither’s pooch. Na, na, ye gomeril, that’s no whaur it bides. Peety me that I suld hae sic feckless weans… Mind the basket, then… Canny, it’s eggs… Gudesakes, ye’ll hae them a’ broke.”
Hector Alexander showed signs of tears, and one of the toddlers set up a wail. The mother cast an agonised look round and caught sight of Jaikie.
“Can I help ye, mistress?” he said in his friendly voice. “I’m for Rinks mysel’. It’s a sore job traivellin’ wi’ a family. Gie me the wean and the basket. Ye havena muckle time, for the train starts in three minutes.”
The flustered woman took one look at his face, and handed over the baby. “Thank ye kindly. Will ye tak the bairns to the train and I’ll get the tickets? Hector Alexander and Jean and Bessie and Tommy, you follow the gentleman. I’m sure I’m awfu’ obliged.”
So it fell out that Jaikie, with an infant beginning to squall held resolutely before his face, a basket in his right hand, and four children attached to different parts of his jacket, made his way to the Fallatown train, passing within ten feet of his enemy. The third-class coach was just behind the engine. Allins did not spare even a glance for the much-encumbered youth. Jaikie found a compartment with only one old woman in it, and carefully deposited the basket on the floor and the four children on the seats, the while he made strange noises to soothe the infant. The guard was banging the doors when the hustled mother arrived and sat down heavily in a corner. She cuffed Hector Alexander for blowing his nose in a primitive way, and then snatched the now obstreperous babe from Jaikie’s arms. “Wheesht, daurlin’! Mither’s got ye noo… Feel in my pooch, Bessie. There’s some jujubes for you and Jean and wee Tommy.”
The old woman surveyed the scene over the top of her spectacles. Then she looked at Jaikie.
“Ye’re a young chiel to be the faither o’ sae mony weans.”
The mother laughed hilariously. “He’s no their faither. He’s just a kind freend… Their faither is in the Gledmouth hospital wi’ a broken leg. He works in the Quarries, ye ken, and a month yestreen he got a muckle stane on his leg that brak it like a pipe stapple… Thank ye, he’s gettin’ on fine. He’ll be out next