JOHN BUCHAN Ultimate Collection: Spy Classics, Thrillers, Adventure Novels & Short Stories, Including Historical Works and Essays (Illustrated). Buchan John

      CHAPTER 7

       CHRISTMASTIDE

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      Everything depended on whether the servant was in the hall. I had put Stumm to sleep for a bit, but I couldn’t flatter myself he would long be quiet, and when he came to he would kick the locked door to matchwood. I must get out of the house without a minute’s delay, and if the door was shut and the old man gone to bed I was done.

      I met him at the foot of the stairs, carrying a candle.

      ‘Your master wants me to send off an important telegram. Where is the nearest office? There’s one in the village, isn’t there?’ I spoke in my best German, the first time I had used the tongue since I crossed the frontier.

      ‘The village is five minutes off at the foot of the avenue,’ he said. ‘Will you be long, sir?’

      ‘I’ll be back in a quarter of an hour,’ I said. ‘Don’t lock up till I get in.’

      I put on my ulster and walked out into a clear starry night. My bag I left lying on a settle in the hall. There was nothing in it to compromise me, but I wished I could have got a toothbrush and some tobacco out of it.

      So began one of the craziest escapades you can well imagine. I couldn’t stop to think of the future yet, but must take one step at a time. I ran down the avenue, my feet cracking on the hard snow, planning hard my programme for the next hour.

      I found the village—half a dozen houses with one biggish place that looked like an inn. The moon was rising, and as I approached I saw that there was some kind of a store. A funny little two-seated car was purring before the door, and I guessed this was also the telegraph office.

      I marched in and told my story to a stout woman with spectacles on her nose who was talking to a young man.

      ‘It is too late,’ she shook her head. ‘The Herr Burgrave knows that well. There is no connection from here after eight o’clock. If the matter is urgent you must go to Schwandorf.’

      ‘How far is that?’ I asked, looking for some excuse to get decently out of the shop.

      ‘Seven miles,’ she said, ‘but here is Franz and the post-wagon. Franz, you will be glad to give the gentleman a seat beside you.’

      The sheepish-looking youth muttered something which I took to be assent, and finished off a glass of beer. From his eyes and manner he looked as if he were half drunk.

      I thanked the woman, and went out to the car, for I was in a fever to take advantage of this unexpected bit of luck. I could hear the post-mistress enjoining Franz not to keep the gentleman waiting, and presently he came out and flopped into the driver’s seat. We started in a series of voluptuous curves, till his eyes got accustomed to the darkness.

      At first we made good going along the straight, broad highway lined with woods on one side and on the other snowy fields melting into haze. Then he began to talk, and, as he talked, he slowed down. This by no means suited my book, and I seriously wondered whether I should pitch him out and take charge of the thing. He was obviously a weakling, left behind in the conscription, and I could have done it with one hand. But by a fortunate chance I left him alone.

      ‘That is a fine hat of yours, mein Herr,’ he said. He took off his own blue peaked cap, the uniform, I suppose, of the driver of the post-wagon, and laid it on his knee. The night air ruffled a shock of tow-coloured hair.

      Then he calmly took my hat and clapped it on his head.

      ‘With this thing I should be a gentleman,’ he said.

      I said nothing, but put on his cap and waited.

      ‘That is a noble overcoat, mein Herr,’ he went on. ‘It goes well with the hat. It is the kind of garment I have always desired to own. In two days it will be the holy Christmas, when gifts are given. Would that the good God sent me such a coat as yours!’

      ‘You can try it on to see how it looks,’ I said good-humouredly.

      He stopped the car with a jerk, and pulled off his blue coat. The exchange was soon effected. He was about my height, and my ulster fitted not so badly. I put on his overcoat, which had a big collar that buttoned round the neck.

      The idiot preened himself like a girl. Drink and vanity had primed him for any folly. He drove so carelessly for a bit that he nearly put us into a ditch. We passed several cottages and at the last he slowed down.

      ‘A friend of mine lives here,’ he announced. ‘Gertrud would like to see me in the fine clothes which the most amiable Herr has given me. Wait for me, I will not be long.’ And he scrambled out of the car and lurched into the little garden.

      I took his place and moved very slowly forward. I heard the door open and the sound of laughing and loud voices. Then it shut, and looking back I saw that my idiot had been absorbed into the dwelling of his Gertrud. I waited no longer, but sent the car forward at its best speed.

      Five minutes later the infernal thing began to give trouble—a nut loose in the antiquated steering-gear. I unhooked a lamp, examined it, and put the mischief right, but I was a quarter of an hour doing it. The highway ran now in a thick forest and I noticed branches going off now and then to the right. I was just thinking of turning up one of them, for I had no anxiety to visit Schwandorf, when I heard behind me the sound of a great car driven furiously.

      I drew in to the right side—thank goodness I remembered the rule of the road—and proceeded decorously, wondering what was going to happen. I could hear the brakes being clamped on and the car slowing down. Suddenly a big grey bonnet slipped past me and as I turned my head I heard a familiar voice.

      It was Stumm, looking like something that has been run over. He had his jaw in a sling, so that I wondered if I had broken it, and his eyes were beautifully bunged up. It was that that saved me, that and his raging temper. The collar of the postman’s coat was round my chin, hiding my beard, and I had his cap pulled well down on my brow. I remembered what Blenkiron had said—that the only way to deal with the Germans was naked bluff. Mine was naked enough, for it was all that was left to me.

      ‘Where is the man you brought from Andersbach?’ he roared, as well as his jaw would allow him.

      I pretended to be mortally scared, and spoke in the best imitation I could manage of the postman’s high cracked voice.

      ‘He got out a mile back, Herr Burgrave,’I quavered. ‘He was a rude fellow who wanted to go to Schwandorf, and then changed his mind.’

      ‘Where, you fool? Say exactly where he got down or I will wring your neck.’

      ‘In the wood this side of Gertrud’s cottage… on the left hand. I left him running among the trees.’ I put all the terror I knew into my pipe, and it wasn’t all acting.

      ‘He means the Henrichs’ cottage, Herr Colonel,’ said the chauffeur. ‘This man is courting the daughter.’

      Stumm gave an order and the great car backed, and, as I looked round, I saw it turning. Then as it gathered speed it shot forward, and presently was lost in the shadows. I had got over the first hurdle.

      But there was no time to be lost. Stumm would meet the postman and would be tearing after me any minute. I took the first turning, and bucketed along a narrow woodland road. The hard ground would show very few tracks, I thought, and I hoped the pursuit would think I had gone on to Schwandorf. But it wouldn’t do to risk it, and I was determined very soon to get the car off the road, leave it, and take to the forest. I