The Leithen Stories

by John Buchan

  ‘Treasures!’ cried all three of his auditors, for the word has not lost its ancient magic.

  Mr Bandicott, with the air of one addressing the Smithsonian Institution, signalled to his henchmen, who thereupon emptied the sacks on the lawn. A curious jumble of objects lay scattered under the evening sun – two massive torques, several bowls and flagons, spear-heads from which the hafts had long since rotted, a sword-blade, and a quantity of brooches, armlets, and rings. A dingy enough collection they made to the eyes of the onlookers as Mr Bandicott arranged them in two heaps.

  ‘These,’ he said, pointing to the torques, armlets, and flagons, ‘are, so far as I can judge, of solid gold.’

  The Colonel called upon his Maker to sanctify his soul. ‘Gold! These are great things! They must be prodigiously valuable. Are they mine, or yours, or whose?’

  ‘I am not familiar with the law of Scotland on the matter of treasure trove, but I assume that the State can annex them, paying you a percentage of their value. For myself, I gladly waive all claims. I am a man of science, sir, not a treasure-hunter … But the merit of the discovery does not lie in those objects, which can be paralleled from many tombs in Scotland and Norway. No, sir, the tremendous, the epoch-making value is to be found in these.’ And he indicated some bracelets and a necklace which looked as if they were made of queerly-marked and very dirty shells.

  Mr Bandicott lifted one and fingered it lovingly.

  ‘I have found such objects in graves as far apart as the coast of Labrador and the coast of Rhode Island, and as far inland as the Ohio basin. These shells were the common funerary adjunct of the primitive inhabitants of my country, and they are peculiar to the North American continent. Do you see what follows, sir?’

  The Colonel did not, and Mr Bandicott, his voice thrilling with emotion, continued:

  ‘It follows that Harald Blacktooth obtained them from the only place he could obtain them, the other side of the Atlantic. There is historical warrant for believing that he voyaged to Greenland; and now we know that he landed upon the main North American continent. The legends of Eric the Red and Leif the Lucky are verified by archaeology. In you, sir, I salute, most reverently salute, the representative of a family to whom belongs the credit hitherto given to Columbus.’

  Colonel Raden plucked feebly at his moustache, and Janet, I regret to say, laughed. But her untimely merriment was checked by Mr Bandicott, who was pronouncing a sort of benediction.

  ‘I rejoice that it has been given to me, an American, to solve this secular riddle. When I think that the dust which an hour ago I touched, and which has lain for centuries under that quiet mound, was once the man who, first of Europeans, trod our soil, my imagination staggers. Colonel Raden, I thank you for having given me the greatest moment of my not uneventful life.’

  He took off his hat, and the Colonel rather shame-facedly removed his. The two men stood looking solemnly at each other till practical considerations occurred to the descendant of the Viking.

  ‘What are you going to do with the loot?’ he asked.

  ‘With your permission, I will take it to Strathlarrig, where I can examine and catalogue it at my leisure. I propose to announce the find at once to the world. Tomorrow I will return with my men and remove the traces of our excavation.’

  Mr Bandicott departed in his car, sitting erect at the wheel in a strangely priest-like attitude, while the two men guarded the treasure behind. He had no eyes for the twilight landscape, or he would have seen in the canal-like stretch of the Larrig belonging to Crask, which lay below the rapids and was universally condemned as hopeless for fish, a solitary angler, who, as the car passed, made a most bungling amateurish cast, but who, when the coast was once more clear, flung a line of surprising delicacy. He could not see the curious way in which that angler placed his fly, laying it with a curl a yard above a moving fish, and then sinking it with a dexterous twist: nor did he see, a quarter of an hour later, the same angler land a fair salmon from water in which in the memory of man no salmon had ever been taken before.

  Colonel Raden and his daughters stood watching the departing archaeologist, and as his car vanished among the beeches Janet seized her sister and whirled her into a dance. ‘Such a day,’ she cried, when the indignant Agatha had escaped and was patting her disordered hair. ‘Losses – one stag, which was better dead. Gains – defeat of John Macnab, fifty pounds sterling, a share of unknown value in Harald Blacktooth’s treasure, and the annexation of America by the Raden family.’

  ‘You’d better say that America has annexed us,’ said the still flustered Agatha. ‘They’ve dug up our barrow, and this afternoon Junius Bandicott asked me to marry him.’

  Janet stopped in her tracks. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I said “No” of course. I’ve only known him a week.’ But her tone was such as to make her sister fear the worst.

  Mr Bandicott was an archaeologist, but he was also a business man, and he was disposed to use the whole apparatus of civilisation to announce his discovery to the world. With a good deal of trouble he got the two chief Scottish newspapers on the telephone, and dictated to them a summary of his story. He asked them to pass the matter on to the London press, and he gave them ample references to establish his good faith. Also he prepared a sheaf of telegrams and cables – to learned societies in Britain and America, to the great New York daily of which he was the principal owner, to the British Museum, to the Secretary for Scotland, and to friends in the same line of scholarship. Having left instructions that these messages should be despatched from Inverlarrig at dawn, he went to bed in a state of profound jubilation and utter fatigue.

  Next morning, while his father was absorbed in the remains of Harald Blacktooth, Junius summoned a council of war. To it there came Angus, the head-keeper, a morose old man near six-foot-four in height, clean-shaven, with eyebrows like a penthouse; Lennox, his second-in-command, whom Leithen had met on his reconnaissance; and two youthful watchers, late of Lovat’s Scouts, known as Jimsie and Davie. There were others about the place who could be mobilised if necessary, including the two chauffeurs, an under-footman and a valet; but, as Junius looked at this formidable quartet, and reflected on the narrow limit of the area of danger, he concluded that he had all the man-power he needed.

  ‘Now, listen to me, Angus,’ he began. ‘This poacher Macnab proposes to start in tomorrow night at twelve o’clock, and according to his challenge he has forty-eight hours to get a fish in – up till midnight on the 3rd of September. I want your advice about the best way of checkmating him. You’ve attended to my orders, and let nobody near the river during the past week?’

  ‘Aye, sir, and there’s nobody socht to gang near it,’ said Angus. ‘The country-side has been as quiet as a grave.’

  ‘Well, it won’t be after tomorrow night. You’ve probably heard that this Macnab killed a stag on Glenraden yesterday – killed it within half a mile of the house, and would have got away with it but for the younger Miss Raden.’

  They had heard of it, for the glen had talked of nothing else all night, but they thought it good manners to express amazement. ‘Heard ye ever the like?’ said one. ‘Macnab maun be a fair deevil,’ said another. ‘If I had just a grip of him,’ sighed the blood-thirsty Angus.

  ‘It’s clear we’re up against something quite out of the common,’ Junius went on, ‘and we daren’t give him the faintest outside chance. Now, let’s consider the river. You say you’ve seen nobody near it.’

  ‘There hasn’t been a line cast in the watter forbye your own, sir,’ said Angus.

  ‘I just seen the one man fishin’ a’ week,’ volunteered Jimsie. ‘It was on the Crask water below the brig. I jaloused that he was one of the servants from Crask, and maybe no very right in the heid. He had no notion of it at all, at all.’

  ‘Well, that’s so far good. Now what about the river outside the park? Our beat runs from the Larrig Bridge – what’s it like between the bridge and the lodge? You’ve never taken me fishing
there.’

  ‘Ye wad need to be dementit before you went fishin’ there,’ said Angus grimly. ‘There’s the stretch above the brig that they ca’ the Lang Whang. There was never man killed a saumon in it, for the fish dinna bide, but rin through to the Wood Pule. There’s fish in the Wood Pule, but the trees are that thick that ye canna cast a flee. Though I’ll no say,’ he added meditatively, ‘that ye couldna cleek a fish out of it. I’d better put a watcher at the Wood Pule.’

  ‘You may rule that out, for the bargain says “legitimate means,” and from all I know of Macnab he’s a sportsman and keeps his word. Well, then, we come to the park, where we’ve five pools – the Duke’s, the Black Scour, Davie’s Pot, Lady Maisie’s, and the Minister’s. We’ve got to keep our eyes skinned there … What about the upper water?’

  ‘There’s no a fish in it,’ said Lennox. ‘They canna get past the linn above the Minister’s. There was aye talk o’ makin’ a salmon ladder, but naething was done, and there’s nocht above the Minister’s but small broon troot.’

  ‘That makes it a pretty simple proposition,’ said Junius. ‘We’ve just the five pools to guard. For the form of the thing we’ll keep watchers on all night, but we may take it that the danger lies only in the thirty-four hours of daylight. Now, remember, we’re taking no chances. Not a soul is to be allowed to fish on the Strathlarrig water till after midnight on the 3rd of September. Not even I or my father. Macnab’s a foxy fellow and I wouldn’t put it past him to disguise himself as Mr Bandicott or myself. Do you understand? If you see a man near the river, kick him out. If he has a rod in his hand, lock him up in the garage and send for me … No, better still. Nobody’s to be allowed inside the gates – except Colonel Raden and his daughters. You’d better tell the lodge-keeper, Angus. If anybody comes to call, they must come back another day. These are my orders, you understand, and I fire anyone who disobeys them. If the 3rd of September passes without accident there’s twenty dollars – I mean to say, five pounds – for each of you. That’s all I’ve got to say.’

  ‘Will we watch below the park, sir?’ Angus asked.

  ‘Watch every damned foot of the water from the bridge to the linns.’

  Thus it came about that when Janet Raden took her afternoon ride past the Wood of Larrigmore she beheld a man patrolling the bog like a policeman on point duty, and when she entered the park for a gallop on the smooth turf she observed a picket at each pool. ‘Poor John Macnab!’ she sighed. ‘He hasn’t the ghost of a chance. I’m rather sorry my family discovered America.’

  Next day, the 1st of September, the Scottish Press published a short account of Mr Bandicott’s discovery, and The Scotsman had a leader on it. About noon a spate of telegrams began, and the girl who carried them on a bicycle from Inverlarrig had a weary time of it. The following morning the Press of Britain spread themselves on the subject. The Times had a leader and an interview with a high authority at the British Museum; the Daily Mail had a portrait of Mr Bandicott and a sketch of his past career, a photograph of what purported to be a Viking’s tomb in Norway, and a chatty article on the law of treasure-trove. The Morning Post congratulated the discoverer in the name of science, but lamented in the name of patriotism that the honour should have fallen to an alien – views which led to an interminable controversy in its pages with the secretary of the Pilgrims’ Club and the president of the American Chamber of Commerce. The evening papers had brightly written articles on Strathlarrig, touching on the sport of deer-stalking, Celtic mysticism, the crofter question, and the law dealing with access to mountains. The previous evening, too, the special correspondents had begun to arrive from all points of the compass, so that the little inn of Inverlarrig had people sleeping in its one bathroom and under its dining-room table. By the morning of the 2nd of September the glen had almost doubled its male population.

  The morning, after some rain in the night, broke in the thin fog which promised a day of blazing heat. Sir Edward Leithen, taking the air after breakfast, decided that his attempt should be made in the evening, for he wanted the Larrig waters well warmed by the sun for the type of fishing he proposed to follow. Benjie had faithfully reported to him the precautions which the Bandicotts had adopted, and his meditations were not cheerful. With luck he might get a fish, but only by a miracle could he escape unobserved. His plan depended upon the Lang Whang being neglected by the watchers as not worthy of their vigilance, but according to Benjie’s account even the Lang Whang had become a promenade. He had now lost any half-heartedness in the business, and his obstinate soul was as set on victory as ever it had been the case in the Law Courts. For the past four days he had thought of nothing else, – his interest in Palliser-Yeates’s attack on Glenraden had been notably fainter than that of the others; every energy he had of mind and body was centred upon killing a fish that night and carrying it off. With some amusement he reflected that he had dissipated the last atom of his ennui, and he almost regretted that apathy had been exchanged for this violent pre-occupation.

  Presently he turned his steps to the arbour to the east of the garden, which forms at once a hiding-place and a watch-tower. There he found his host busied about the preparation of his speech, with the assistance of Lamancha, who was also engaged intermittently in the study of the ordnance map of Haripol.

  ‘It’s a black look-out for you, Ned,’ said Sir Archie. ‘I hear the Bandicotts have taped off every yard of their water, and have got a man to every three. Benjie says the place only wants a piper or two to be like the Muirtown Highland Gathering. What are you going to do about it?’

  ‘I’m going to have a try this evening. I can’t chuck in my hand, but the thing’s a stark impossibility. I hoped old Bandicott would be so excited at unearthing the Viking that he would forget about precautions, but he’s as active as a beaver.’

  ‘That’s the young ’un. He don’t give a damn for Vikings, but he’s out to protect his fish. You’ve struck the American business mind, my lad, and it’s an awful thing for us casual Britons. I suppose you won’t let me come down and watch you. I’d give a lot to see a scrap between you and that troglodyte Angus.’

  At that moment Benjie, wearing the waterproof cape of ceremony, presented himself at the arbour door. He bore a letter which he presented to Sir Archie. The young man read it with a face which was at once perplexed and pleased.

  ‘It’s from old Bandicott. He says he has got some antiquarian swell – Professor Babwater I think the name is – coming to stay, and he wants me to dine tonight – says the Radens are coming too … This is the devil. What had I better do, Charles?’

  ‘Stay at home. You’ll put your foot in it somehow if you go. The girl who held up old John will be there, and she’s bound to talk about John Macnab, and you’re equally bound to give the show away.’

  ‘But I haven’t any sort of excuse. Americans are noted for their politeness, and here have I been shutting the door in the face of the poor old chap when he toiled up the hill. He won’t understand it, and people will begin to talk, and that’s the quickest way to blow the gaff. Besides, I’ve got to give up this lie about my ill-health if I’m to appear at Muirtown the day after tomorrow. What do you say, Ned?’

  ‘I think you’d better go,’ Leithen answered. ‘We can’t have the neighbourhood thinking you are plague-stricken. You’ll be drinking port, while I’m being carted by the gillies into the coal-hole. But for Heaven’s sake, Archie, go canny. That Raden girl will turn you inside out, if you give her a chance. And don’t you try and be clever, whatever happens. If there’s a row and you see me being frog-marched into captivity, don’t trouble to create a diversion. Behave as if you had never seen me in your life before … You hadn’t heard of John Macnab except from Miss Raden, and you’re desperately keen to hear more, you understand. Play the guileless innocent and rack your brains to think who he can be. Start any hare you like – that he’s D’Annunzio looking for excitement … or the Poet Laureate … or an escaped lunatic. And keep it up that you are in de
licate health. Oh, and talk politics – they’re safe enough. Babble about the Rally, and how the great Lamancha’s coming up for it all the way from the Borders.’

  Archie nodded, with a contented look in his eyes. ‘I’m goin’ to take your advice. Where did you get this note, Benjie? From Mactavish at the lodge? All right, I’ll give you a line to take back with you … By the way, Ned, what’s your get-up to-night? I’d better know beforehand in case of accidents.’

  ‘I’m going to look the basest kind of poaching tramp. I’ve selected my costume from the combined wardrobes of this household, and I can tell you it’s pretty dingy. Mrs Lithgow is at present engaged in clouting the oldest pair of Wattie’s breeks for me … My only chance is to be a regular ragamuffin, and the worst I need fear then is a rough handling from the gillies. Bandicott, I take it, is not the sort of fellow to want to prosecute. If I’m caught – which is fairly certain – I’ll probably get a drubbing and spend the night in a cellar and be given my breakfast next morning and kicked out. It’s a different matter for you, Charles, with the legally minded Claybody.’

  ‘What odds are you offerin’?’ Sir Archie asked. ‘John backed himself and I took a tenner off him. What about an even fiver?’

  ‘I’ll give you three to one in five-pound notes that I win,’ said Leithen grimly. ‘But that’s pride, not conviction.’

  ‘Done with you, my lad,’ said Sir Archie, and departed to write an acceptance of the invitation to dinner.

  Fish Benjie remained behind, and it was clear that he had something to communicate. He caught Lamancha’s eye, who gave him the opening he sought by asking what was the news from Strathlarrig. Benjie had the instinct of the ballad-maker, and would begin his longer discourses with an epic flourish of the ‘Late at e’en drinkin’ the wine’ style.