Greenmantle by John Buchan (snow like ashes series .txt) 📕

time of war, and a front of brass was the surest safety. But, indeed, I could not figure out any plan worth speaking of. I saw only one thing⁠—a fast car which might be ours.

I said a word to the others, and we dismounted and tethered our horses at the near end of the courtyard. I heard the low hum of voices from the cavalrymen by the stream, but they were three hundred yards off and could not see us. Peter was sent forward to scout in the courtyard. In the building itself there was but one window looking on the road, and that was in the upper floor.

Meantime I crawled along beside the wall to where the car stood, and had a look at it. It was a splendid six-cylinder affair, brand new, with the tyres little worn. There were seven tins of petrol stacked behind as well as spare tyres, and, looking in, I saw map-cases and field-glasses strewn on the seats as if the owners had only got out for a minute to stretch their legs.

Peter came back and reported that the courtyard was empty.

“There are men in the upper room,” he said; “more than one, for I heard their voices. They are moving about restlessly, and may soon be coming out.”

I reckoned that there was no time to be lost, so I told the others to slip down the road fifty yards beyond the caravanserai and be ready to climb in as I passed. I had to start the infernal thing, and there might be shooting.

I waited by the car till I saw them reach the right distance. I could hear voices from the second floor of the house and footsteps moving up and down. I was in a fever of anxiety, for any moment a man might come to the window. Then I flung myself on the starting handle and worked like a demon.

The cold made the job difficult, and my heart was in my mouth, for the noise in that quiet place must have woke the dead. Then, by the mercy of Heaven, the engine started, and I sprang to the driving seat, released the clutch, and opened the throttle. The great car shot forward, and I seemed to hear behind me shrill voices. A pistol bullet bored through my hat, and another buried itself in a cushion beside me.

In a second I was clear of the place and the rest of the party were embarking. Blenkiron got on the step and rolled himself like a sack of coals into the tonneau. Peter nipped up beside me, and Hussin scrambled in from the back over the folds of the hood. We had our baggage in our pockets and had nothing to carry.

Bullets dropped round us, but did no harm. Then I heard a report at my ear, and out of a corner of my eye saw Peter lower his pistol. Presently we were out of range, and, looking back, I saw three men gesticulating in the middle of the road.

“May the devil fly away with this pistol,” said Peter ruefully. “I never could make good shooting with a little gun. Had I had my rifle⁠ ⁠…”

“What did you shoot for?” I asked in amazement. “We’ve got the fellows’ car, and we don’t want to do them any harm.”

“It would have saved trouble had I had my rifle,” said Peter, quietly. “The little man you call Rasta was there, and he knew you. I heard him cry your name. He is an angry little man, and I observe that on this road there is a telegraph.”

XVII Trouble by the Waters of Babylon

From that moment I date the beginning of my madness. Suddenly I forgot all cares and difficulties of the present and future and became foolishly lighthearted. We were rushing towards the great battle where men were busy at my proper trade. I realized how much I had loathed the lonely days in Germany, and still more the dawdling week in Constantinople. Now I was clear of it all, and bound for the clash of armies. It didn’t trouble me that we were on the wrong side of the battle line. I had a sort of instinct that the darker and wilder things grew the better chance for us.

“Seems to me,” said Blenkiron, bending over me, “that this joyride is going to come to an untimely end pretty soon. Peter’s right. That young man will set the telegraph going, and we’ll be held up at the next township.”

“He’s got to get to a telegraph office first,” I answered. “That’s where we have the pull on him. He’s welcome to the screws we left behind, and if he finds an operator before the evening I’m the worst kind of a Dutchman. I’m going to break all the rules and bucket this car for what she’s worth. Don’t you see that the nearer we get to Erzerum the safer we are?”

“I don’t follow,” he said slowly. “At Erzerum I reckon they’ll be waiting for us with the handcuffs. Why in thunder couldn’t those hairy ragamuffins keep the little cuss safe? Your record’s a bit too precipitous, Major, for the most innocent-minded military boss.”

“Do you remember what you said about the Germans being open to bluff? Well, I’m going to put up the steepest sort of bluff. Of course they’ll stop us. Rasta will do his damnedest. But remember that he and his friends are not very popular with the Germans, and Madame von Einem is. We’re her protégés, and the bigger the German swell I get before the safer I’ll feel. We’ve got our passports and our orders, and he’ll be a bold man that will stop us once we get into the German zone. Therefore I’m going to hurry as fast as God will let me.”

It was a ride that deserved to have an epic written about it. The car was good, and I handled her well, though I say it