sir tancred would only stay four days in paris with the grateful blumenruth, because he wished hildebrand anne to have the sea air, for it seemed to him that he had not yet got back his full strength after the scarlet fever. they returned, therefore, to brighton, and when the weather grew hotter, removed to the more bracing east coast. tinker was for sharing the three thousand pounds he had made out of his trip in the flying-machine equally with his father; but sir tancred would not hear of it. chiefly to please him, however, he borrowed a thousand of it at five per cent., and invested the rest in tinker's name. with this thousand-pound note and three notes of fifty pounds, he paid off the loan of a thousand pounds which he had borrowed from mr. robert lambert, a money-lender, five years before, with the balance of the interest up to date, and found himself once more unencumbered save for a few small debts, and with plenty of money for his immediate needs.
during august and september they stayed at different country houses; and fortune being in a kindly mood, the money remained untouched. in the middle of october they came to london to their usual rooms in the hotel cecil; and sir tancred was one morning at breakfast disagreeably surprised to receive from mr. robert lambert a demand for the immediate payment of 1450 pounds. at first he thought it was a mistake, then he remembered that he had paid mr. lambert in notes; and that mr. lambert had promised to get at once from his bank the promissory note on which the money had been borrowed, and send it to him. the promissory note had not come, and the matter had passed from sir tancred's mind. now, he perceived that, if mr. lambert chose to deny that payment, he was in no little of a plight.
after breakfast, therefore, he took a hansom, and drove to mr. lambert's office. the worthy money-lender received him at once, and with no less delay began to deny with every appearance of honest indignation that he had been paid the debt. sir tancred grew exceedingly disagreeable; he set forth with perfect frankness his opinion of mr. lambert's character, declared that he would rather go to that uncomfortable abode of contemptuous debtors, holloway, than be swindled in so barefaced a fashion; and exclaiming, "you may go to your native jericho, before i pay you a farthing, you thieving rascal!" went out of the office, and banged the door behind him.
the worthy money-lender smiled an uncomfortable and malignant smile at the banged door, and at once gave instructions to his manager to take proceedings. sir tancred explained the transaction to tinker; warned him against laxness in matters of business; prepared for immediate flight; and they caught the midnight mail from euston. by the time an indefatigable bailiff had ascertained next day that they had left london, they were eating their dinner, in a secure peace, at ardrochan lodge in ardrochan forest, which sir tancred had borrowed for the while from his friend lord crosland.
hildebrand anne was used to long periods unenlivened by companions of his own age; and he began forthwith to make the best of the forest. some days he stalked the red deer with his father; some days were devoted to his education, fencing, boxing, and gymnastics; and on the others he explored the forest on a shaggy pony. it was of a comfortable size, forty square miles or thereabouts, stretches of wild heath, broken by strips of wood, craggy hills, and swamps, full of streams, and abounding in many kinds of animals. it was an admirable place for indians, outlaws, brigands, and robber barons, and tinker practised all these professions in turn, with the liveliest satisfaction.
at first it was something of a tax on his imagination to be a whole band of these engaging persons himself; with one companion it would have been easy enough, but his imagination presently compassed the task. and when he found his way to the deil's den, a low stone tower on a hill some six miles from ardrochan, his favourite occupation was that of robber baron. it would have been more proper to put the tower to its old use of a lair of a highland cateran; but, to his shame, tinker funked the dialect with which such a person must necessarily be cursed.
the deil's den had earned its name in earlier centuries from the bloody deeds of its first owners. no gillie would go within a mile of it, even in bright sunshine. tinker's carelessness of its ghosts, a headless woman and a redheaded man with his throat cut, had won him the deepest respect of the village, or rather hamlet, of ardrochan. twice he had constrained himself to wait in the tower till dusk, in the hope that his fearful, but inquiring, spirit would be gratified by the sight of one or other of these psychic curiosities.
it was a two-storied building, and its stone seemed likely to last as long as the hills from which it had been quarried. in some thought that it might be used as a watch-tower by his keepers, lord crosland had repaired its inside, and fitted it with a stout door and two ladders, one running to the second story and another to the roof. from here the keen eyes of hildebrand anne, baron of ardrochan, scanned often the countryside, looking for travelling merchants or wandering knights; while his gallant steed black rudolph, whose coat was drab and dingy, waited saddled and bridled below, and blazer the bloodhound sniffed about the burn hard by. blazer had a weakness for rats quite uncommon in bloodhounds.
tinker cherished but a faint hope that fortune would ever send him a prisoner, even a braw, shock-headed lad, or sonsie, savage lassie of the country. but he did not do justice to that goddess's love of mischief. it was she who inspired into mr. robert lambert the desire to shine in the great world; and it was she who gave him the idea of taking for the season lord hardacre's house and forest of tullispaith, in lieu of the cash which he would never get. thither he invited certain spirited young clients, who had practically only the choice of being mr. lambert's guests at tullispaith or king edward's at holloway. thither he came, a week beforehand, to make ready for them.
at once he set about becoming an accomplished deer-stalker. for three days he rode, or tramped, about the forest of tullispaith, in search of red deer which, in quite foolish estimate of their peril, insisted always on putting a hill between themselves and his rifle. on the fourth day he rested, for though his spirit was willing, his legs were weak. this inactivity irked him, for he knew the tireless energy of the english sportsman; and at noon fortune inspired him with the most disastrous idea of all, the idea of taking a stroll by himself. he took his rifle and a packet of sandwiches, and set out. now to the unpractised eye any one brae, or glen, or burn of bonnie scotland is exactly like any other brae, or glen, or burn of that picturesque land. he had not gone two miles before he had lost his way.
he did not mind, for he was sure that he knew his direction. he was wrong; he may have been like his oriental ancestors in some of his qualities, but he lacked their ingrained sense of orientation; and he was walking steadily away from the house of tullispaith. he rested often and he looked often at his watch. he passed over the border of tullispaith into the forest of ardrochan, and wandered wearily on and on. the autumn sun was moving down the western sky at a disquieting speed, when at last he caught sight of the dell's den, and with a new energy hurried towards it.
at about the same time hildebrand anne, the robber baron of ardrochan, caught sight of him, mounted black rudolph, and rode down to meet him, ready to drag or lure him to his stronghold. the angel face of tinker had never looked more angelic to human being than it looked to the weary money-lender. he had never seen him before; therefore, he had no reason to suppose that that face was not the index to an angelic nature. unfortunately, tinker knew by sight most of his father's friends and enemies, and at the first glance he recognised the squat figure, the thick, square nose, and muddy complexion of mr. robert lambert.
"my lad," said the money-lender, failing to perceive that he was addressing one of the worst kind of man in all romance, "i've lost my way. i want to get to the house of tullispaith. which is the road?"
"there is no road; and it's eight miles away," said tinker, knitting his brow into the gloomy and forbidding frown of a robber baron.
"eight miles! what am i to do? where is the nearest place i can get a conveyance?"
"it would be a twenty-mile drive if you got a cart, and there's no cart nearer than ardrochan, and that's six miles away."
"well, then, a horse, or a pony, and a guide?"
"you could get a pony at hamish beg's; and one of his sons could guide you."
"where does he live? how can i get there?"
"three miles the other side of that tower."
"will you show me the way? i'll give you—i'll give you half-a-crown."
"hildebrand anne of ardrochan is not the hired varlet of every wandering chapster," said tinker with a splendid air.
"i'm not a wandering chapster," said the money-lender. "i'm a gentleman of london. i'll give you five shillings—half a sovereign—a pound!"
"the offer of money to one in whose veins flows the proudest blood of the north is an insult!" said tinker in a terrible voice.
"no offence! no offence!" said mr. lambert, cursing what he believed to be the penniless highland pride under his breath.
suddenly tinker saw his way. "from the top of yon tower i can show you the path to hamish beg's. follow me," he said, turned his pony, and led the way up the hill with a sinister air.
with a groan, the money-lender, quite unobservant of the sinister air, breasted the ascent. he set down his rifle by the door of the tower, and followed tinker up the ladders.
"you see those two pine trees between those two far hills?" said tinker.
mr. lambert drew round his field-glasses, and after long fumbling, focussed them on the pines. "well?" he said.
there was no answer; he turned to his angel guide, and found himself alone on the tower. he ran to the top of the ladder and looked down. at the bottom stood tinker regarding him with an excellent sardonic smile: "ha! ha!" he cried in a gruff, triumphant voice, "trapped—trapped!" and he turned on his heel.
the money-lender heard the door slam and the key turn in the lock. he ran to the parapet, and saw tinker mounting his pony with an easy grace and the air of one who has performed a meritorious action.
"hi! hullo! what are you up to?" cried mr. lambert.
"foul extortioner! your crimes have found you out! you have consigned many a poor soul to the dungeon, it is your turn now," said tinker with admirable grandiloquence. then, dropping to his ordinary voice, he added plaintively: "of course it's not really a dungeon; it ought to be underground—with rats. but we must make the best of it."
"look here, my lad," said mr. lambert thickly. "i don't want any of your silly games! i shall be late enough home as it is. you unlock that door, and show me the way to this beg's at once! d'ye hear?"
tinker laughed a good scornful laugh. "lambert of london," he said, returning to the romantic vein, "to-night reflect on your misdeeds. to-morrow we will treat of your ransom. hans breithelm and jorgan schwartz, ye answer for this caitiff's safe keeping with your heads! i charge ye watch him well. to horse, my brave men. we ride to ardrochan!" and he turned his pony.
the money-lender broke into threats and abuse; then, as the pony drew further away, he passed to entreaties. tinker never turned his head; he rode on, brimming with joyous triumph; he had a real prisoner.
mr. lambert shouted after him till he was hoarse, he shouted after him till his voice was a wheezy croak. tinker passed out of sight without a glance back, and, for a while, that iron-hearted, inexorable man of many loans, sobbed like a child with mingled rage and fear. then he scrambled down the ladder, and tried the door. there was no chance of his bursting it open; that was a feat far beyond his strength; and though he might have worked the rusted bars out of the window, he could never have forced his rotundity through it. then he bethought himself of passers-by, and hurried to the top of the tower. there was no one in sight. he shouted and shouted till he lost his voice again; the echoes died away among the empty hills. he leaned upon the parapet waiting, with the faintest hope that the diabolical boy would tire of his joke, return, and set him free. again and again he asked himself who was this boy who had recognised him in this scotch desert.
the dusk gathered till he could not see a hundred yards from the tower. then he came down, struck a match, and examined the bottom room; it was being borne in upon him that he was destined to spend the night in it. it was some twelve feet square, and the stone floor was clean. in one corner was a pile of heather; but there was no way of stopping up the window, and the night was setting in chill.
he went back to the top of the tower; it was dark now. he shouted again. the conviction of the hopelessness of his plight was taking a strong hold upon him, and he was growing hungry. he stamped wearily round the top of the tower to warm his chilling body, pondering a hundred futile plans of escape, breaking off to consign to perdition the deceptive angel child, and meditating many different revenges. at the end of an hour he went down the ladder, and flung himself on the pile of heather in a paroxysm of despair.
till nearly ten o'clock he went now and again to the top of the tower, and shouted. he was beginning to grow very hungry. at ten o'clock he buried himself in the heather, and slept for an hour. he awoke cold and stiff, and his sensitive stomach, used to the tenderest indulgence, was clamouring angrily. he was learning what the cold and hunger, which, by a skilful manipulation of the laws of his adopted country, he had been able to mete out to many foolish innocents with no grudging hand, really were. he went to the top of the tower, and shouted fruitlessly; he warmed himself by stamping up and down; then he came and slept again. this was his round all the night through: snatches of uneasy sleep, cold and hungry awakenings, shoutings, and stampings round the top of the tower.
meanwhile tinker had ridden joyously home, and shown himself in such cheerful spirits during dinner that sir tancred had observed him with no little suspicion, wondering if it could really be that he had found opportunities of mischief even in a deer-forest. after dinner tinker went into the kitchen, where he found hamish beg supping. he talked to him for a while, on matters of sport; then he said, "i say, you told me about the headless woman and the red-headed man with his throat cut, at the deil's den, but you never told me about the man in brown who shouts and waves from the top of the tower, and when you come to it, it's empty."
hamish, the cook, and the two maids burst into a torrent of exclamations in their strange language. "yes," said tinker, "a man in brown who shouts and waves from the top of the tower, and when you come to it, no one's there."
he kept his story to this, and presently came back to his father, assured that the more loudly mr. lambert yelled, and the more wildly he waved, the further would any inhabitant of ardrochan fly from the deil's den. he went to bed in a gloating joy, which kept him awake a while; and it was during those wakeful moments that a memory of "monte cristo" suggested that he should gain a practical advantage from what had so far been merely an act of abstract justice.
it was past eleven when tinker came riding over the hills at the head of his merry, but imaginary men. horribly hungry, but warmed by the sun to a quite passable malignity, the money-lender watched his coming from the top of the tower, pondering how to catch him and thrash him within an inch of his life. he did not know that far more active men than he had cherished vainly that arrogant ambition, but tinker's cheerful and confident air afforded little encouragement to his purpose.
"halt!" cried the robber baron, reining up his pony. "hans and jorgan, is your captive safe? good. bring him forth." he turned to his invisible band. "to your quarters, varlets! i would confer alone with the usurious"—he rolled the satisfying word finely off his tongue—"rogue."
hand on hip he sat, and watched his merry figments dismount and lead away their horses.
he turned, and frowned splendidly on the prisoner. "what think ye of our hospitality, lambert of london?" he said.
mr. lambert scowled; his emotion was too deep for words.
suddenly tinker dropped the robber baron, and became his frank and engaging self: "i'm sorry to be so late," he said with a charming air of apology, "but i had to send a message to tullispaith to say that you would not be back till saturday, or perhaps monday."
"what!" screamed mr. lambert. "what do you mean?"
"well, i didn't want them to hunt for you. i'm going to keep you here till you do what i want," said tinker with a seraphic smile.
"you young rascal! you mean to try and keep me here!" screamed mr. lambert, jumping about in a light, but ungainly fashion. "oh, i'll teach you! i'll make you repent this till your dying day! you think you can keep me here! you shall see. the first shepherd, the first keeper who passes will let me out. and i won't rest"—and he swore an oath quite unfit for boyish ears—"till i've hunted you down!"
"no one will come within a mile of the deil's den," said the unruffled tinker. "it's haunted by a headless woman and a redheaded man with his throat cut. but perhaps you've seen them. besides, i've told them that there's a man in brown who shouts and waves, and then disappears when anyone comes to the tower. why, if they see you, they'll run for their lives." he spoke with a convicting quietness.
mr. lambert doubled up over the parapet in a gasping anguish.
"you're not going to leave here till you give me a letter for your clerk, telling him to hand over sir tancred beauleigh's promissory note," said tinker.
mr. lambert rejected the suggestion in extravagant language.
"you bandy words with me!" cried the baron hildebrand anne of ardrochan. "lambert of london, beware! think, rash rogue, on your grinders! hans and jorgan, prepare the red-hot pincers! you have a quarter of an hour to reflect, lambert."
he flung himself off his pony, tethered it, strode down to the spring which trickled out of the hillside some forty yards away, and came back bearing a big jug full of water.
mr. lambert watched him in a bursting fury, at whiles scanning the empty hills with a raging eye. suddenly light dawned on him: "are you the boy who stole the flying-machine?" he cried.
"you mind your own business!" said tinker tartly; it was his cherished belief that he had borrowed the flying-machine.
mr. lambert understood at last with whom he had to deal; and the knowledge was not cheering. his angry stomach clamoured at him to come to terms, but his greed was still too strong for it.
"the time is up, lambert of london!" said tinker presently, very sternly. "will you ransom your base carcase?"
the money-lender turned his back on him with a lofty dignity.
"ha! ha! hunger shall tame that proud spirit!" said the baron of ardrochan.
suddenly the money-lender heard the door opened, and he dashed for the ladder. he scrambled down it in time to hear the key turn again, but the jug of water stood inside. he took it up and drank a deep draught. he had not known that he was so thirsty, never dreamed that water could be so appetising. he heard tinker summon his men, and when he came back to the top of the tower, he was riding away. he watched him go with a sinking heart, and, since he was so empty, it had a good depth to sink to. twice he opened his mouth to call him back, but greed prevailed.
the day wore wearily through. his spoilt stomach was now raving at him in a savage frenzy. now and again he shouted, but less often as the afternoon drew on, for he knew surely that it was hopeless.
as the dusk fell, he found himself remembering tinker's words about the headless woman and the redheaded man, and began to curse his folly in not having come to terms. at times his hunger was a veritable anguish. this night was a thousand times worse than the night before. his hunger gave him little rest, and he awoke from his brief sleep in fits of abject terror, fancying that the redheaded man was staring in through the window; he saw his gashed throat quite plainly. he grew colder and colder, for he was too faint with hunger to stamp about the top of the tower. later he must have grown delirious, for he saw the headless woman climbing up the ladder to the second story. it must have been delirium, for the figure he saw wore an ordinary nightrail, whereas the lady of the legend wore a russet gown. some years later, as it seemed to him, the dawn came. it grew warmer; and he huddled into the pile of heather and slept.
he was awakened by a shout of "lambert of london, awake!" and tottering to the window, groaning, he beheld a cold grouse, a three-pound chunk of venison, two loaves, and a small bottle of whiskey neatly set out on a napkin. his mouth opened and shut, and opened and shut.
"the letter, rogue! are you going to give me the letter?" shouted the baron hildebrand anne fiercely.
mr. lambert tore himself from the window, and flung himself down on the heather, sobbing. "fourteen hundred and fifty pounds!" he moaned, "fourteen hundred and fifty pounds!—and costs!" suddenly his wits cleared … what a fool he'd been!… why shouldn't he give the boy the letter, and wire countermanding his instructions?… oh, he had been a fool!
he hurried to the window, and cried, "yes, yes, i'll give it you! give me the paper. i've got a fountain pen!"
"you'd better have a drink of whiskey first; your hand will be too shaky to write your usual handwriting," said the thoughtful tinker, handing him the bottle along with the note-paper.
mr. lambert took a drink, and indeed it steadied his hand. sure that he could make it useless, he wrote a careful and complete letter, lying at full length on the floor, his only possible writing table.
he scrambled up, and thrust it through the window, crying, "here you are! let me out!"
tinker spelled the letter carefully through, and put it into another letter he had already prepared to send to sir tancred's solicitors. then he handed the money-lender a thick venison sandwich, cut while he had been writing.
the tears ran down mr. lambert's face as his furious jaws bit into it.
"don't wolf it!" said tinker sternly. "starving men should feed slowly."
mr. lambert had no restraint; he did wolf it. then he asked for more.
"in a quarter of an hour," said tinker, and he gave him nothing sooner for all his clamorous entreaties.
after a second sandwich the money-lender was another man, and tinker, seeing that he was not ill, said, "i must be going; i have a long ride to post this letter"; and he began to hand in the rest of the food through the window.
"be careful not to eat it all up at once," he said. "it's got to last you till to-morrow."
"what's this! what's this!" cried mr. lambert. "you promised to release me when you got the letter!"
"when i get the promissory note, or when my father's solicitor gets it. i've told him to wire."
the money-lender snarled like a dog; his brilliant idea had proved of no good. he stormed and stormed; tinker was cheerful, but indifferent. he thrust a rug he had brought with him through the window, summoned his phantom band, and rode away.
mr. lambert spent a gloomy, but, thanks to the soothing of his stomach, a not uncomfortable day. he was very sad that he had lost the chance of swindling sir tancred beauleigh out of 1450 pounds; and his sadness and an occasional twinge of rheumatism filled him with thoughts of revenge. slowly he formed a plan of disabling tinker by an unexpected kick when he opened the door, thrashing him within an inch of his life, riding off on his pony, and leaving him helpless, to starve or not, according as he might be found. this plan was a real comfort to him. he passed an unhaunted night; and next morning tinker brought him more food. for some hours he played at robber baron, and now and again held conversations about the money-lender with his band. none of them contained compliments. mr. lambert watched him with a sulky malignity, and matured his plan.
the next morning he awoke late, but very cheerful at the prospect of freedom and revenge. he came to the window rubbing his hands joyfully, and saw a little parcel hanging from the bars. he opened it, and found the key of the door, a little compass, and a letter. swearing at his vanished chance of revenge, he opened it; it ran:
fly at once. steer n. e. for tulyspathe. hamish believes you are uncanny, and has molded a silver bullet out of a half crown to lay your resless spirrit with. his rifel is oldfashuned, but he will not miss and waist the half crown he is so thriffty.
a sekret worner.
mr. lambert steered n.e. at once; he went not like the wind, but as much like the wind as his soft, short legs would carry him. he scanned every bush and gully with fearful eyes; he gave every thicket a wide berth, and every time he saw hamish, and he saw him behind a thousand bushes and boulders, he shouted: "i'm mr. lambert from london, i'm not a spirit!"
it was, indeed, a wasted and dirty money-lender who reached tullispaith late in the day. he had but one thought in his mind, to fly immediately after dinner from this expansive and terrifying country. he wired to his guests not to come; he discharged his servants; and as he crossed the border next day, he bade farewell to the stern and wild caledonia in a most impressive malediction.
when sir tancred beauleigh received his lawyer's letter containing the promissory note, he was not a little bewildered; tinker was quick to enlighten him; and he heard that angel child's explanation of his application of mediaeval german methods to a modern monetary difficulty with a grateful astonishment.
