Behind me was the road climbing through a long cleft2 in the hills, which was the upper glen of some notable river. In front was a flat space of maybe a mile, all pitted with bog3-holes and rough with tussocks, and then beyond it the road fell steeply down another glen to a plain whose blue dimness melted into the distance. To left and right were round-shouldered green hills as smooth as pancakes, but to the south—that is, the left hand—there was a glimpse of high heathery mountains, which I remembered from the map as the big knot of hill which I had chosen for my sanctuary4. I was on the central boss of a huge upland country, and could see everything moving for miles. In the meadows below the road half a mile back a cottage smoked, but it was the only sign of human life. Otherwise there was only the calling of plovers5 and the tinkling6 of little streams.
It was now about seven o’clock, and as I waited I heard once again that ominous7 beat in the air. Then I realized that my vantage-ground might be in reality a trap. There was no cover for a tomtit in those bald green places.
I sat quite still and hopeless while the beat grew louder. Then I saw an aeroplane coming up from the east. It was flying high, but as I looked it dropped several hundred feet and began to circle round the knot of hill in narrowing circles, just as a hawk8 wheels before it pounces9. Now it was flying very low, and now the observer on board caught sight of me. I could see one of the two occupants examining me through glasses.
Suddenly it began to rise in swift whorls, and the next I knew it was speeding eastward10 again till it became a speck11 in the blue morning.
That made me do some savage12 thinking. My enemies had located me, and the next thing would be a cordon13 round me. I didn’t know what force they could command, but I was certain it would be sufficient. The aeroplane had seen my bicycle, and would conclude that I would try to escape by the road. In that case there might be a chance on the moors15 to the right or left. I wheeled the machine a hundred yards from the highway, and plunged16 it into a moss-hole, where it sank among pond-weed and water-buttercups. Then I climbed to a knoll17 which gave me a view of the two valleys. Nothing was stirring on the long white ribbon that threaded them.
I have said there was not cover in the whole place to hide a rat. As the day advanced it was flooded with soft fresh light till it had the fragrant18 sunniness of the South African veld. At other times I would have liked the place, but now it seemed to suffocate19 me. The free moorlands were prison walls, and the keen hill air was the breath of a dungeon20.
I tossed a coin—heads right, tails left—and it fell heads, so I turned to the north. In a little I came to the brow of the ridge21 which was the containing wall of the pass. I saw the highroad for maybe ten miles, and far down it something that was moving, and that I took to be a motor-car. Beyond the ridge I looked on a rolling green moor14, which fell away into wooded glens.
Now my life on the veld has given me the eyes of a kite, and I can see things for which most men need a telescope.... Away down the slope, a couple of miles away, several men were advancing, like a row of beaters at a shoot.
I dropped out of sight behind the sky-line. That way was shut to me, and I must try the bigger hills to the south beyond the highway. The car I had noticed was getting nearer, but it was still a long way off with some very steep gradients before it. I ran hard, crouching22 low except in the hollows, and as I ran I kept scanning the brow of the hill before me. Was it imagination, or did I see figures—one, two, perhaps more—moving in a glen beyond the stream?
If you are hemmed23 in on all sides in a patch of land there is only one chance of escape. You must stay in the patch, and let your enemies search it and not find you. That was good sense, but how on earth was I to escape notice in that table-cloth of a place? I would have buried myself to the neck in mud or lain below water or climbed the tallest tree. But there was not a stick of wood, the bog-holes were little puddles24, the stream was a slender trickle25. There was nothing but short heather, and bare hill bent26, and the white highway.
Then in a tiny bight of road, beside a heap of stones, I found the roadman.
He had just arrived, and was wearily flinging down his hammer. He looked at me with a fishy27 eye and yawned.
“Confoond the day I ever left the herdin’!” he said, as if to the world at large. “There I was my ain maister. Now I’m a slave to the Goavernment, tethered to the roadside, wi’ sair een, and a back like a suckle.”
He took up the hammer, struck a stone, dropped the implement29 with an oath, and put both hands to his ears. “Mercy on me! My heid’s burstin’!” he cried.
He was a wild figure, about my own size but much bent, with a week’s beard on his chin, and a pair of big horn spectacles.
“I canna dae’t,” he cried again. “The Surveyor maun just report me. I’m for my bed.”
I asked him what was the trouble, though indeed that was clear enough.
“The trouble is that I’m no sober. Last nicht my dochter Merran was waddit, and they danced till fower in the byre. Me and some ither chiels sat down to the drinkin’, and here I am. Peety that I ever lookit on the wine when it was red!”
I agreed with him about bed.
“It’s easy speakin’,” he moaned. “But I got a postcard yestreen sayin’ that the new Road Surveyor would be round the day. He’ll come and he’ll no find me, or else he’ll find me fou, and either way I’m a done man. I’ll awa’ back to my bed and say I’m no weel, but I doot that’ll no help me, for they ken30 my kind o’ no-weel-ness.”
Then I had an inspiration. “Does the new Surveyor know you?” I asked.
“No him. He’s just been a week at the job. He rins about in a wee motor-cawr, and wad speir the inside oot o’ a whelk.”
“Where’s your house?” I asked, and was directed by a wavering finger to the cottage by the stream.
“Well, back to your bed,” I said, “and sleep in peace. I’ll take on your job for a bit and see the Surveyor.”
He stared at me blankly; then, as the notion dawned on his fuddled brain, his face broke into the vacant drunkard’s smile.
“You’re the billy,” he cried. “It’ll be easy eneuch managed. I’ve finished that bing o’ stanes, so you needna chap ony mair this forenoon. Just take the barry, and wheel eneuch metal frae yon quarry31 doon the road to mak anither bing the morn. My name’s Alexander Trummle, and I’ve been seeven year at the trade, and twenty afore that herdin’ on Leithen Water. My freens ca’ me Ecky, and whiles Specky, for I wear glesses, being waik i’ the sicht. Just you speak the Surveyor fair, and ca’ him Sir, and he’ll be fell pleased. I’ll be back or midday.”
I borrowed his spectacles and filthy32 old hat; stripped off coat, waistcoat, and collar, and gave him them to carry home; borrowed, too, the foul33 stump34 of a clay pipe as an extra property. He indicated my simple tasks, and without more ado set off at an amble35 bedwards. Bed may have been his chief object, but I think there was also something left in the foot of a bottle. I prayed that he might be safe under cover before my friends arrived on the scene.
Then I set to work to dress for the part. I opened the collar of my shirt—it was a vulgar blue-and-white check such as ploughmen wear—and revealed a neck as brown as any tinker’s. I rolled up my sleeves, and there was a forearm which might have been a blacksmith’s, sunburnt and rough with old scars. I got my boots and trouser-legs all white from the dust of the road, and hitched36 up my trousers, tying them with string below the knee. Then I set to work on my face. With a handful of dust I made a water-mark round my neck, the place where Mr Turnbull’s Sunday ablutions might be expected to stop. I rubbed a good deal of dirt also into the sunburn of my cheeks. A roadman’s eyes would no doubt be a little inflamed37, so I contrived38 to get some dust in both of mine, and by dint39 of vigorous rubbing produced a bleary effect.
The sandwiches Sir Harry40 had given me had gone off with my coat, but the roadman’s lunch, tied up in a red handkerchief, was at my disposal. I ate with great relish41 several of the thick slabs42 of scone43 and cheese and drank a little of the cold tea. In the handkerchief was a local paper tied with string and addressed to Mr Turnbull—obviously meant to solace44 his midday leisure. I did up the bundle again, and put the paper conspicuously45 beside it.
My boots did not satisfy me, but by dint of kicking among the stones I reduced them to the granite-like surface which marks a roadman’s footgear. Then I bit and scraped my finger-nails till the edges were all cracked and uneven46. The men I was matched against would miss no detail. I broke one of the bootlaces and retied it in a clumsy knot, and loosed the other so that my thick grey socks bulged47 over the uppers. Still no sign of anything on the road. The motor I had observed half an hour ago must have gone home.
My toilet complete, I took up the barrow and began my journeys to and from the quarry a hundred yards off.
I remember an old scout49 in Rhodesia, who had done many queer things in his day, once telling me that the secret of playing a part was to think yourself into it. You could never keep it up, he said, unless you could manage to convince yourself that you were it. So I shut off all other thoughts and switched them on to the road-mending. I thought of the little white cottage as my home, I recalled the years I had spent herding50 on Leithen Water, I made my mind dwell lovingly on sleep in a box-bed and a bottle of cheap whisky. Still nothing appeared on that long white road.
Now and then a sheep wandered off the heather to stare at me. A heron flopped51 down to a pool in the stream and started to fish, taking no more notice of me than if I had been a milestone52. On I went, trundling my loads of stone, with the heavy step of the professional. Soon I grew warm, and the dust on my face changed into solid and abiding53 grit54. I was already counting the hours till evening should put a limit to Mr Turnbull’s monotonous55 toil48.
Suddenly a crisp voice spoke56 from the road, and looking up I saw a little Ford57 two-seater, and a round-faced young man in a bowler58 hat.
“Are you Alexander Turnbull?” he asked. “I am the new County Road Surveyor. You live at Blackhopefoot, and have charge of the section from Laidlawbyres to the Riggs? Good! A fair bit of road, Turnbull, and not badly engineered. A little soft about a mile off, and the edges want cleaning. See you look after that. Good morning. You’ll know me the next time you see me.”
Clearly my get-up was good enough for the dreaded59 Surveyor. I went on with my work, and as the morning grew towards noon I was cheered by a little traffic. A baker60’s van breasted the hill, and sold me a bag of ginger61 biscuits which I stowed in my trouser-pockets against emergencies. Then a herd28 passed with sheep, and disturbed me somewhat by asking loudly, “What had become o’ Specky?”
“In bed wi’ the colic,” I replied, and the herd passed on....
Just about midday a big car stole down the hill, glided62 past and drew up a hundred yards beyond. Its three occupants descended63 as if to stretch their legs, and sauntered towards me.
Two of the men I had seen before from the window of the Galloway inn—one lean, sharp, and dark, the other comfortable and smiling. The third had the look of a countryman—a vet64, perhaps, or a small farmer. He was dressed in ill-cut knickerbockers, and the eye in his head was as bright and wary65 as a hen’s.
“Morning,” said the last. “That’s a fine easy job o’ yours.”
I had not looked up on their approach, and now, when accosted66, I slowly and painfully straightened my back, after the manner of roadmen; spat67 vigorously, after the manner of the low Scot; and regarded them steadily68 before replying. I confronted three pairs of eyes that missed nothing.
“There’s waur jobs and there’s better,” I said sententiously. “I wad rather hae yours, sittin’ a’ day on your hinderlands on thae cushions. It’s you and your muckle cawrs that wreck69 my roads! If we a’ had oor richts, ye sud be made to mend what ye break.”
The bright-eyed man was looking at the newspaper lying beside Turnbull’s bundle.
“I see you get your papers in good time,” he said.
I glanced at it casually70. “Aye, in gude time. Seein’ that that paper cam’ out last Setterday I’m just sax days late.”
He picked it up, glanced at the superscription, and laid it down again. One of the others had been looking at my boots, and a word in German called the speaker’s attention to them.
“You’ve a fine taste in boots,” he said. “These were never made by a country shoemaker.”
“They were not,” I said readily. “They were made in London. I got them frae the gentleman that was here last year for the shootin’. What was his name now?” And I scratched a forgetful head. Again the sleek71 one spoke in German. “Let us get on,” he said. “This fellow is all right.”
They asked one last question.
“Did you see anyone pass early this morning? He might be on a bicycle or he might be on foot.”
I very nearly fell into the trap and told a story of a bicyclist hurrying past in the grey dawn. But I had the sense to see my danger. I pretended to consider very deeply.
“I wasna up very early,” I said. “Ye see, my dochter was merrit last nicht, and we keepit it up late. I opened the house door about seeven and there was naebody on the road then. Since I cam up here there has just been the baker and the Ruchill herd, besides you gentlemen.”
One of them gave me a cigar, which I smelt72 gingerly and stuck in Turnbull’s bundle. They got into their car and were out of sight in three minutes.
My heart leaped with an enormous relief, but I went on wheeling my stones. It was as well, for ten minutes later the car returned, one of the occupants waving a hand to me. Those gentry73 left nothing to chance.
I finished Turnbull’s bread and cheese, and pretty soon I had finished the stones. The next step was what puzzled me. I could not keep up this roadmaking business for long. A merciful Providence74 had kept Mr Turnbull indoors, but if he appeared on the scene there would be trouble. I had a notion that the cordon was still tight round the glen, and that if I walked in any direction I should meet with questioners. But get out I must. No man’s nerve could stand more than a day of being spied on.
I stayed at my post till five o’clock. By that time I had resolved to go down to Turnbull’s cottage at nightfall and take my chance of getting over the hills in the darkness. But suddenly a new car came up the road, and slowed down a yard or two from me. A fresh wind had risen, and the occupant wanted to light a cigarette.
It was a touring car, with the tonneau full of an assortment75 of baggage. One man sat in it, and by an amazing chance I knew him. His name was Marmaduke Jopley, and he was an offence to creation. He was a sort of blood stockbroker76, who did his business by toadying77 eldest78 sons and rich young peers and foolish old ladies. “Marmie’ was a familiar figure, I understood, at balls and polo-weeks and country houses. He was an adroit80 scandal-monger, and would crawl a mile on his belly81 to anything that had a title or a million. I had a business introduction to his firm when I came to London, and he was good enough to ask me to dinner at his club. There he showed off at a great rate, and pattered about his duchesses till the snobbery82 of the creature turned me sick. I asked a man afterwards why nobody kicked him, and was told that Englishmen reverenced83 the weaker sex.
Anyhow there he was now, nattily84 dressed, in a fine new car, obviously on his way to visit some of his smart friends. A sudden daftness took me, and in a second I had jumped into the tonneau and had him by the shoulder.
“Hullo, Jopley,” I sang out. “Well met, my lad!” He got a horrid85 fright. His chin dropped as he stared at me. “Who the devil are you?” he gasped86.
“My name’s Hannay,” I said. “From Rhodesia, you remember.”
“Good God, the murderer!” he choked.
“Just so. And there’ll be a second murder, my dear, if you don’t do as I tell you. Give me that coat of yours. That cap, too.”
He did as he was bid, for he was blind with terror. Over my dirty trousers and vulgar shirt I put on his smart driving-coat, which buttoned high at the top and thereby87 hid the deficiencies of my collar. I stuck the cap on my head, and added his gloves to my get-up. The dusty roadman in a minute was transformed into one of the neatest motorists in Scotland. On Mr Jopley’s head I clapped Turnbull’s unspeakable hat, and told him to keep it there.
Then with some difficulty I turned the car. My plan was to go back the road he had come, for the watchers, having seen it before, would probably let it pass unremarked, and Marmie’s figure was in no way like mine.
“Now, my child,” I said, “sit quite still and be a good boy. I mean you no harm. I’m only borrowing your car for an hour or two. But if you play me any tricks, and above all if you open your mouth, as sure as there’s a God above me I’ll wring88 your neck. Savez?”
I enjoyed that evening’s ride. We ran eight miles down the valley, through a village or two, and I could not help noticing several strange-looking folk lounging by the roadside. These were the watchers who would have had much to say to me if I had come in other garb89 or company. As it was, they looked incuriously on. One touched his cap in salute90, and I responded graciously.
As the dark fell I turned up a side glen which, as I remember from the map, led into an unfrequented corner of the hills. Soon the villages were left behind, then the farms, and then even the wayside cottage. Presently we came to a lonely moor where the night was blackening the sunset gleam in the bog pools. Here we stopped, and I obligingly reversed the car and restored to Mr Jopley his belongings91.
“A thousand thanks,” I said. “There’s more use in you than I thought. Now be off and find the police.”
As I sat on the hillside, watching the tail-light dwindle92, I reflected on the various kinds of crime I had now sampled. Contrary to general belief, I was not a murderer, but I had become an unholy liar79, a shameless impostor, and a highwayman with a marked taste for expensive motor-cars.
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1
crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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cleft
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| n.裂缝；adj.裂开的 | |
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bog
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| n.沼泽；室...陷入泥淖 | |
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sanctuary
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| n.圣所，圣堂，寺庙；禁猎区，保护区 | |
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plovers
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| n.珩，珩科鸟（如凤头麦鸡）( plover的名词复数 ) | |
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tinkling
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| n.丁当作响声 | |
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ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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hawk
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| n.鹰，骗子；鹰派成员 | |
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pounces
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| v.突然袭击( pounce的第三人称单数 )；猛扑；一眼看出；抓住机会（进行抨击） | |
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eastward
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| adv.向东；adj.向东的；n.东方，东部 | |
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speck
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| n.微粒，小污点，小斑点 | |
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savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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cordon
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| n.警戒线，哨兵线 | |
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moor
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| n.荒野，沼泽；vt.(使)停泊；vi.停泊 | |
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moors
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| v.停泊，系泊（船只）( moor的第三人称单数 ) | |
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16
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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knoll
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| n.小山，小丘 | |
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fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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suffocate
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| vt.使窒息，使缺氧，阻碍；vi.窒息，窒息而亡，阻碍发展 | |
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dungeon
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| n.地牢，土牢 | |
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ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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hemmed
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| 缝…的褶边( hem的过去式和过去分词 )； 包围 | |
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puddles
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| n.水坑， （尤指道路上的）雨水坑( puddle的名词复数 ) | |
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trickle
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| vi.淌，滴，流出，慢慢移动，逐渐消散 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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fishy
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| adj. 值得怀疑的 | |
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herd
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| n.兽群，牧群；vt.使集中，把…赶在一起 | |
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implement
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| n.(pl.)工具，器具；vt.实行，实施，执行 | |
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ken
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| n.视野，知识领域 | |
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quarry
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| n.采石场；v.采石；费力地找 | |
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filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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stump
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| n.残株，烟蒂，讲演台；v.砍断，蹒跚而走 | |
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amble
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| vi.缓行，漫步 | |
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hitched
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| （免费）搭乘他人之车( hitch的过去式和过去分词 )； 搭便车； 攀上； 跃上 | |
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inflamed
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| adj.发炎的，红肿的v.（使）变红，发怒，过热( inflame的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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dint
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| n.由于，靠；凹坑 | |
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40
harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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41
relish
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| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
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42
slabs
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| n.厚板，平板，厚片( slab的名词复数 )；厚胶片 | |
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43
scone
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| n.圆饼，甜饼，司康饼 | |
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44
solace
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| n.安慰；v.使快乐；vt.安慰(物)，缓和 | |
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45
conspicuously
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| ad.明显地，惹人注目地 | |
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46
uneven
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| adj.不平坦的，不规则的，不均匀的 | |
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47
bulged
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| 凸出( bulge的过去式和过去分词 )； 充满； 塞满（某物） | |
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48
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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49
scout
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| n.童子军，侦察员；v.侦察，搜索 | |
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50
herding
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| 中畜群 | |
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51
flopped
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| v.（指书、戏剧等）彻底失败( flop的过去式和过去分词 )；（因疲惫而）猛然坐下；（笨拙地、不由自主地或松弛地）移动或落下；砸锅 | |
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52
milestone
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| n.里程碑；划时代的事件 | |
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53
abiding
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| adj.永久的，持久的，不变的 | |
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grit
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| n.沙粒，决心，勇气；v.下定决心，咬紧牙关 | |
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monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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56
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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Ford
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| n.浅滩，水浅可涉处；v.涉水，涉过 | |
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bowler
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| n.打保龄球的人，（板球的）投（球）手 | |
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dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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60
baker
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| n.面包师 | |
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ginger
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| n.姜，精力，淡赤黄色；adj.淡赤黄色的；vt.使活泼，使有生气 | |
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glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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vet
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| n.兽医，退役军人；vt.检查 | |
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wary
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| adj.谨慎的，机警的，小心的 | |
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accosted
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| v.走过去跟…讲话( accost的过去式和过去分词 )；跟…搭讪；（乞丐等）上前向…乞讨；（妓女等）勾搭 | |
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spat
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| n.口角，掌击；v.发出呼噜呼噜声 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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sleek
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| adj.光滑的，井然有序的；v.使光滑，梳拢 | |
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smelt
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| v.熔解，熔炼；n.银白鱼，胡瓜鱼 | |
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gentry
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| n.绅士阶级，上层阶级 | |
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providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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assortment
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| n.分类，各色俱备之物，聚集 | |
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stockbroker
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| n.股票（或证券），经纪人（或机构） | |
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toadying
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| v.拍马，谄媚( toady的现在分词 ) | |
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eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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liar
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| n.说谎的人 | |
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adroit
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| adj.熟练的，灵巧的 | |
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81
belly
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| n.肚子，腹部；(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分，膛 | |
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snobbery
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| n. 充绅士气派, 俗不可耐的性格 | |
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reverenced
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| v.尊敬，崇敬( reverence的过去式和过去分词 )；敬礼 | |
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nattily
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| adv.整洁地，帅地 | |
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horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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88
wring
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| n.扭绞；v.拧，绞出，扭 | |
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89
garb
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| n.服装，装束 | |
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90
salute
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| vi.行礼，致意，问候，放礼炮；vt.向…致意，迎接，赞扬；n.招呼，敬礼，礼炮 | |
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91
belongings
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| n.私人物品，私人财物 | |
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92
dwindle
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| v.逐渐变小（或减少） | |
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