The Complete Richard Hannay

by John Buchan

  My last recollection is of two meals in the great hall of the House. The first was the night of the coming of the Grind, or rather the small hours of the following morning. The Danish fishery boat had arrived; the malefactors were safely stowed away; and, while Haraldsen lay in his bed upstairs, in the hall were gathered the Norlanders who had saved us, both the boat parties and those who had come by land – the officers of the destroyer – Sandy, Lombard, and myself – and Anna and Peter John. The children seemed to have got their second wind, for, having been very tired and drowsy at first, they woke up before midnight to an astonishing vigour. The Danish officers, who knew the Norlands well and also Haraldsen, were the friendliest of souls. As for the Norlanders, to them the Island of Sheep was the home of legend and the Haraldsen family the centre of the mythology. At first they were shy and laggard, for your Norlander is an excellent giver but a poor taker. But they were very hungry, and Arn had provided a feast of fat things, and in twenty minutes they had squared their elbows to the job and were as merry as grigs.

  I shall never forget that scene. Arn had supplemented the electric light by several score of candles, and the huge place was as bright as day. The tapestries, the carved grotesques, the many ships’ models, the curious panelling – their minutest lines and their subtlest colours were displayed in that fierce radiance. And below sat a company which might have come out of a picture in a child’s Grimm. Many of the islanders wore their cowls, for they were in doubt as to whether that vast hall should be reckoned a dwelling. And at the head of the long oaken table, in a chair like a galley’s beak, sat Anna. I had never seen anything quite like her. She had changed from rough clothes into a white silk gown, and the coronel of lights under which she sat made her seem a creature of gold and ivory. She ruled the feast, too. It was she who gave the toasts; it was she who in musical Norland thanked our preservers. Here was the true fairy-tale princess, the Queen out of the North, and to that wild gathering she lent an air of high ceremonial. But she was a stony-hearted princess, for she insisted on toasting Peter John. I don’t know what she said about him, but it got the Norlanders out of their seats and he was hoisted – Morag angrily protesting – on a dozen shoulders. A speech was demanded, and his was of two sentences. ‘Thank you all very much. – Anna, you beast, I’ll pay you out for this.’

  The second meal was the following day, when the Tjaldar was about to sail under the convoy of the Danish destroyer, and the islanders had returned to their homes. We had the Tjaldar party to dinner, and Haraldsen himself was the host. I have never been present on a more fantastic occasion. Sandy said we had to do it, to mark the close of hostilities, but it was a pretty cruel business for the ex-conspirators. Albinus was a dingy figure, still considerably rattled. Barralty was the frightened intellectual trying to recover his poise, but he was a long way short of getting back his self-esteem. The lady was the most composed. She wore a charming gown, and had the wit not to make any pretences. They had got themselves into an ugly show, and were now quit of it and correspondingly grateful. But they all looked at Sandy in some awe. I gathered that, as Martel, he had been chiefly responsible for scaring the life out of them.

  I think I may say that we all behaved well. Lombard talked the City to Barralty and Troth, Sandy had some polite things to say about politics, a great deal of information was vouchsafed about the Norlands, some of Haraldsen’s treasures were exhibited, and Miss Ludlow was caressingly sweet to Anna. I should add that old Arn excelled himself, that the food was perfection, and that the best of Haraldsen’s cellar was forthcoming. This last point was especially appreciated by Troth, who soon relaxed into bonhomie. I found him a very friendly fellow, with sensible notions about the Essex creeks and tides.

  It was he who, before they left, made an attempt at an apology.

  ‘I hope, Mr Haraldsen,’ he said, ‘that we’re all going to forgive and forget.’

  Haraldsen looked down on him from his great height.

  ‘I ask for nothing better,’ he said. ‘I understand that you feel some grievance against me, Mr Troth. On my father’s account, I think, and for your own father’s sake? Well, we are willing that some reparation should be made. Lord Clanroyden will tell you what.’

  Sandy took from his pocket something in a chamois-leather wrapping.

  ‘This belonged to the late Mr Haraldsen,’ he said. ‘It came into my hands in rather an odd way, about which I wrote to the papers. I do not intend to hand it over to the British Museum. I propose, Mr Troth, to give it to you in full settlement of any claims you may think you have against the late Mr Haraldsen’s estate.’

  He took from a bag the tablet of emerald jade which he had shown us at Fosse.

  Troth received it with a face in which surprise, greed and a kind of shame were mingled. He turned the lovely thing over in his hands, made as if to read the inscription, and then looked at Sandy a little confusedly.

  ‘D’you mean that, Lord Clanroyden?’ he asked. ‘It’s extraordinarily good of you. Of course I give up any claims – I had already given them up. D’you mean me to act on what this tablet may tell me?’

  ‘Certainly.’

  ‘And to keep for myself whatever I may find?’

  ‘Certainly. For yourself, and any friends you want to share with you.’

  Troth peered at the inscription.

  ‘One side’s in Latin. The other side – the important side – I suppose I can get that translated?’

  ‘It has already been translated,’ said Sandy gravely. ‘I have seen to that.’

  ‘And you found?’ The eternal treasure-hunter was in Troth’s voice.

  ‘We found a list of the Twelve Major Virtues and the Ninety-Nine Names of God!’

  * Major Hannay’s narrative of this affair has been published under the title of The Thirty-Nine Steps.

  * Peter meant a Polish-Jew peddlar.

  * See The Thirty-Nine Steps.

  * In The Three Hostages.

  * The tale of Lord Clanroyden’s doings in Olifa will be found in The Courts of the Morning.