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

partridge,” and he smiled at Blenkiron. “Two eminent American engineers and their servant bound for Mesopotamia on business of high Government importance! It was a good lie; but if I had been in Constantinople it would have had a short life. Rasta and his friends are no concern of mine. You can trick them as you please. But you have attempted to win the confidence of a certain lady, and her interests are mine. Likewise you have offended me, and I do not forgive. By God,” he cried, his voice growing shrill with passion, “by the time I have done with you your mothers in their graves will weep that they ever bore you!”

It was Blenkiron who spoke. His voice was as level as the chairman’s of a bogus company, and it fell on that turbid atmosphere like acid on grease.

“I don’t take no stock in highfalutin’. If you’re trying to scare me by that dime-novel talk I guess you’ve hit the wrong man. You’re like the sweep that stuck in the chimney, a bit too big for your job. I reckon you’ve a talent for romance that’s just wasted in soldiering. But if you’re going to play any ugly games on me I’d like you to know that I’m an American citizen, and pretty well considered in my own country and in yours, and you’ll sweat blood for it later. That’s a fair warning, Colonel Stumm.”

I don’t know what Stumm’s plans were, but that speech of Blenkiron’s put into his mind just the needed amount of uncertainty. You see, he had Peter and me right enough, but he hadn’t properly connected Blenkiron with us, and was afraid either to hit out at all three, or to let Blenkiron go. It was lucky for us that the American had cut such a dash in the Fatherland.

“There is no hurry,” he said blandly. “We shall have long happy hours together. I’m going to take you all home with me, for I am a hospitable soul. You will be safer with me than in the town gaol, for it’s a trifle draughty. It lets things in, and it might let things out.”

Again he gave an order, and we were marched out, each with a soldier at his elbow. The three of us were bundled into the back seat of the car, while two men sat before us with their rifles between their knees, one got up behind on the baggage rack, and one sat beside Stumm’s chauffeur. Packed like sardines we moved into the bleak streets, above which the stars twinkled in ribbons of sky.

Hussin had disappeared from the face of the earth, and quite right too. He was a good fellow, but he had no call to mix himself up in our troubles.

XVIII Sparrows on the Housetops

“I’ve often regretted,” said Blenkiron, “that miracles have left off happening.”

He got no answer, for I was feeling the walls for something in the nature of a window.

“For I reckon,” he went on, “that it wants a good old-fashioned copper-bottomed miracle to get us out of this fix. It’s plumb against all my principles. I’ve spent my life using the talents God gave me to keep things from getting to the point of rude violence, and so far I’ve succeeded. But now you come along, Major, and you hustle a respectable middle-aged citizen into an aboriginal mix-up. It’s mighty indelicate. I reckon the next move is up to you, for I’m no good at the housebreaking stunt.”

“No more am I,” I answered; “but I’m hanged if I’ll chuck up the sponge. Sandy’s somewhere outside, and he’s got a hefty crowd at his heels.”

I simply could not feel the despair which by every law of common sense was due to the case. The guns had intoxicated me. I could still hear their deep voices, though yards of wood and stone separated us from the upper air.

What vexed us most was our hunger. Barring a few mouthfuls on the road we had eaten nothing since the morning, and as our diet for the past days had not been generous we had some leeway to make up. Stumm had never looked near us since we were shoved into the car. We had been brought to some kind of house and bundled into a place like a wine-cellar. It was pitch dark, and after feeling round the walls, first on my feet and then on Peter’s back, I decided that there were no windows. It must have been lit and ventilated by some lattice in the ceiling. There was not a stick of furniture in the place: nothing but a damp earth floor and bare stone sides. The door was a relic of the Iron Age, and I could hear the paces of a sentry outside it.

When things get to the pass that nothing you can do can better them, the only thing is to live for the moment. All three of us sought in sleep a refuge from our empty stomachs. The floor was the poorest kind of bed, but we rolled up our coats for pillows and made the best of it. Soon I knew by Peter’s regular breathing that he was asleep, and I presently followed him⁠ ⁠…

I was awakened by a pressure below my left ear. I thought it was Peter, for it is the old hunter’s trick of waking a man so that he makes no noise. But another voice spoke. It told me that there was no time to lose and to rise and follow, and the voice was the voice of Hussin.

Peter was awake, and we stirred Blenkiron out of heavy slumber. We were bidden take off our boots and hang them by their laces round our necks as country boys do when they want to go barefoot. Then we tiptoed to the door, which was ajar.

Outside was a passage with a flight of steps at one end which led to the open air. On these steps