The Forbidden Buzzards

by H.H. Munro (SAKI)

　　

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"Is matchmaking at all in your line?"Hugo Peterby asked the question with a certainamount of personal interest."I don't specialise in it," said Clovis; "it's allright while you're doing it, but the after-effects aresometimes so disconcerting - the mute reproachful looksof the people you've aided and abetted in matrimonialexperiments. It's as bad as selling a man a horse withhalf a dozen latent vices and watching him discover thempiecemeal in the course of the hunting season. I supposeyou're thinking of the Coulterneb girl. She's certainlyjolly, and quite all right as far as looks go, and Ibelieve a certain amount of money adheres to her. What Idon't see is how you will ever manage to propose to her.In all the time I've known her I don't remember her tohave stopped talking for three consecutive minutes.You'll have to race her six times round the grass paddockfor a bet, and then blurt your proposal out before she'sgot her wind back. The paddock is laid up for hay, butif you're really in love with her you won't let aconsideration of that sort stop you, especially as it'snot your hay.""I think I could manage the proposing part rightenough," said Hugo, "if I could count on being left alonewith her for four or five hours. The trouble is that I'mnot likely to get anything like that amount of grace.That fellow Lanner is showing signs of interestinghimself in the same quarter. He's quite heartbreakinglyrich and is rather a swell in his way; in fact, ourhostess is obviously a bit flattered at having him here.If she gets wind of the fact that he's inclined to beattracted by Betty Coulterneb she'll think it a splendidmatch and throw them into each other's arms all day long,and then where will my opportunities come in? My oneanxiety is to keep him out of the girl's way as much aspossible, and if you could help me - ""If you want me to trot Lanner round thecountryside, inspecting alleged Roman remains andstudying local methods of bee culture and crop raising,I'm afraid I can't oblige you," said Clovis. "You see,he's taken something like an aversion to me since theother night in the smoking-room.""What happened in the smoking-room?""He trotted out some well-worn chestnut as thelatest thing in good stories, and I remarked, quiteinnocently, that I never could remember whether it wasGeorge II. or James II. who was so fond of thatparticular story, and now he regards me with politely-draped dislike. I'll do my best for you, if theopportunity arises, but it will have to be in aroundabout, impersonal manner."* * * *"It's so nice having Mr. Lanner here," confided Mrs.Olston to Clovis the next afternoon; "he's always beenengaged when I've asked him before. Such a nice man; hereally ought to be married to some nice girl. Betweenyou and me, I have an idea that he came down here for acertain reason.""I've had much the same idea," said Clovis, loweringhis voice; "in fact, I'm almost certain of it.""You mean he's attracted by - " began Mrs. Olstoneagerly."I mean he's here for what he can get," said Clovis."For what he can get?" said the hostess with a touchof indignation in her voice; "what do you mean? He's avery rich man. What should he want to get here?""He has one ruling passion," said Clovis, "andthere's something he can get here that is not to be hadfor love nor for money anywhere else in the country, asfar as I know.""But what? Whatever do you mean? What is hisruling passion?""Egg-collecting," said Clovis. "He has agents allover the world getting rare eggs for him, and hiscollection is one of the finest in Europe; but his greatambition is to collect his treasures personally. Hestops at no expense nor trouble to achieve that end.""Good heavens! The buzzards, the rough-leggedbuzzards!" exclaimed Mrs. Olston; "you don't think he'sgoing to raid their nest?""What do you think yourself?" asked Clovis; "theonly pair of rough-legged buzzards known to breed in thiscountry are nesting in your woods. Very few people knowabout them, but as a member of the league for protectingrare birds that information would be at his disposal. Icame down in the train with him, and I noticed that abulky volume of Dresser's 'Birds of Europe' was one ofthe requisites that he had packed in his travelling-kit.It was the volume dealing with short-winged hawks andbuzzards."Clovis believed that if a lie was worth telling itwas worth telling well."This is appalling," said Mrs. Olston; "my husbandwould never forgive me if anything happened to thosebirds. They've been seen about the woods for the lastyear or two, but this is the first time they've nested.As you say, they are almost the only pair known to bebreeding in the whole of Great Britain; and now theirnest is going to be harried by a guest staying under myroof. I must do something to stop it. Do you think if Iappealed to him - "Clovis laughed."There is a story going about, which I fancy is truein most of its details, of something that happened notlong ago somewhere on the coast of the Sea of Marmora, inwhich our friend had a hand. A Syrian nightjar, or somesuch bird, was known to be breeding in the olive gardensof a rich Armenian, who for some reason or other wouldn'tallow Lanner to go in and take the eggs, though heoffered cash down for the permission. The Armenian wasfound beaten nearly to death a day or two later, and hisfences levelled. It was assumed to be a case ofMussulman aggression, and noted as such in all theConsular reports, but the eggs are in the Lannercollection. No, I don't think I should appeal to hisbetter feelings if I were you.""I must do something," said Mrs. Olston tearfully;"my husband's parting words when he went off to Norwaywere an injunction to see that those birds were notdisturbed, and he's asked about them every time he'swritten. Do suggest something.""I was going to suggest picketing," said Clovis."Picketing! You mean setting guards round thebirds?""No; round Lanner. He can't find his way throughthose woods by night, and you could arrange that you orEvelyn or Jack or the German governess should be by hisside in relays all day long. A fellow guest he could getrid of, but he couldn't very well shake off members ofthe household, and even the most determined collectorwould hardly go climbing after forbidden buzzards' eggswith a German governess hanging round his neck, so tospeak."Lanner, who had been lazily watching for anopportunity for prosecuting his courtship of theCoulterneb girl, found presently that his chances ofgetting her to himself for ten minutes even were non-existent. If the girl was ever alone he never was. Hishostess had changed suddenly, as far as he was concerned,from the desirable type that lets her guests do nothingin the way that best pleases them, to the sort that dragsthem over the ground like so many harrows. She showedhim the herb garden and the greenhouses, the villagechurch, some water-colour sketches that her sister haddone in Corsica, and the place where it was hoped thatcelery would grow later in the year.He was shown all the Aylesbury ducklings and the rowof wooden hives where there would have been bees if therehad not been bee disease. He was also taken to the endof a long lane and shown a distant mound whereon localtradition reported that the Danes had once pitched acamp. And when his hostess had to desert him temporarilyfor other duties he would find Evelyn walking solemnly byhis side. Evelyn was fourteen and talked chiefly aboutgood and evil, and of how much one might accomplish inthe way of regenerating the world if one was thoroughlydetermined to do one's utmost. It was generally rather arelief when she was displaced by Jack, who was nine yearsold, and talked exclusively about the Balkan War withoutthrowing any fresh light on its political or militaryhistory. The German governess told Lanner more aboutSchiller than he had ever heard in his life about any oneperson; it was perhaps his own fault for having told herthat he was not interested in Goethe. When the governesswent off picket duty the hostess was again on hand with anot-to-be-gainsaid invitation to visit the cottage of anold woman who remembered Charles James Fox; the woman hadbeen dead for two or three years, but the cottage wasstill there. Lanner was called back to town earlier thanhe had originally intended.Hugo did not bring off his affair with BettyCoulterneb. Whether she refused him or whether, as wasmore generally supposed, he did not get a chance ofsaying three consecutive words, has never been exactlyascertained. Anyhow, she is still the jolly Coulternebgirl.The buzzards successfully reared two young ones,which were shot by a local hairdresser.

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