The Mystery of the Green Ray Part 19

"None whatever," I replied, this time with perfect truth.

"Surely you must suspect somebody, though," the American urged. "It is a very spa.r.s.ely populated neighbourhood, you know."

"We can't actually suspect anybody, nevertheless," said I. "On the one hand, it may have been an ordinary, uninteresting thief who stole the dog with a view to selling him again. On the other hand----"

"Well," said Hilderman with interest, as I paused, "on the other hand?"

"It may have been someone who had other reasons for stealing him," I concluded.

"I don't quite follow you."

"Ewart means," said Garnesk, cutting in eagerly, evidently fearing that I was about to make some indiscreet disclosure of our suspicions, though I had not the slightest intention of doing so, "Ewart means that it may have been someone who regarded the dog as a personal enemy. Miss McLeod informs us that there was a man in the hills, ostensibly a crofter, who disliked Sholto, quite unreasonably. He drove the dog away from his croft and was very rude to Miss McLeod about it. She suspected an illicit still, and thought the fellow was afraid Sholto might nose out his secret and give the show away."

"Ah!" said Hilderman. "An illicit still, eh! Where was this still, or, rather, where was the croft?"

I remembered that Myra had told us it was somewhere up Suardalan way, above Tor Beag, and I was just about to explain, when I felt my friend's boot knock sharply against my ankle. Taking this as a hint and not an accident, I promptly lied.

"It was miles away," I announced readily, "away up on The Saddle. Miss McLeod wanders pretty far afield with Sholto at times."

"Indeed," said the American, "I should think that might be quite a likely explanation, and rather a suitable place for a still, too. I climbed The Saddle some months ago with an enthusiastic friend of mine. We went by water to Invershiel, and then drove up the Glen. I shouldn't like to walk from Invermalluch and back; there are several mountains in between, and surely there is no road."

Evidently our shrewd companion suspected that I had either made a mistake or deliberately told him an untruth, but I was quite ready for him. I had no time to consider the ethics of the matter. I was out to obey what I took to be my instructions, and obey them I did.

"Oh, there are quite a lot of ways of getting there," I replied airily; "but perhaps the easiest would be to take the motor-boat to Corran and walk up the Arnisdale, or follow the road to Corran and then up the river. Miss McLeod has her own ways of getting about this country, though, and she may even know some way of avoiding the difficulties of the Sgriol and the other intervening mountains."

Hilderman looked at me in considerable surprise for a moment.

"You seem to know the district pretty well yourself, Mr. Ewart," he remarked.

"Well, I ought to," I explained; "I was born in Glenmore."

"Oh, I didn't know that," he murmured; "that accounts for it, then."

And at that moment we heard the train approaching, and we hurried into the station to meet our respective visitors.

"Fact or fancy?" asked Garnesk in an undertone as we strolled down the platform, Hilderman having hurried on ahead.

"Fancy," I replied. "I took it you wanted me to avoid giving him the precise details."

"Yes, I did," he laughed. "But you certainly made them precise enough.

It is better to be careful how you explain these things to strangers."

"Why?" I asked. "If we suspected Hilderman I should be inclined to agree with you that we should feed him up with lies; and if you think it will help us at all to suspect him I'm on at once. But as we both feel that his disposition is friendly and that we have no cause to doubt him, what is your reason for putting him off the scent every time? I know you well enough by this time to feel sure that you haven't been making these cryptic remarks for the sake of hearing yourself speak."

"Here's the train," he said. "I'll tell you later."

I looked along the carriages for Dennis, but I had evidently missed him, for as I turned back along the platform I found him looking round for me, standing amid the _melee_ of tourists and fisherfolk, keepers and valets, sportsmen and dogs, which is typical of the West Highland terminus in early August, and which seemed little affected by the fact that a state of war existed between Great Britain and the only nation in the world which was prepared for hostilities.

"Well, old man," I greeted him as we shook hands heartily. "You got my wire, of course. I hope you had a decent journey."

"Rather, old chap, I should think I did!" he replied warmly. "Slept like a turnip through the beastly parts, and woke up for the bit from Dumbarton on. I also had the luck to remember what you said about the breakfast and took the precaution of wiring for it. Here I am, and as fit as a fiddle."

"That's great!" I exclaimed cheerily, for Dennis's bright att.i.tude had exactly the effect on me that it was intended to have--it made me feel about twenty years younger. "This is Mr. Garnesk, the specialist, who very kindly came from Glasgow to see Myra. Mr. Garnesk--Mr. Burnham."

The two shook hands, and the oculist suggested lunch. We left the station to go up to the hotel, but we saw Hilderman and his newly arrived friend--the same man who had seen me taking Myra up to London--walking leisurely up the hill in front of us. Garnesk took my arm.

"Steady, my boy, steady," he said quietly. "We don't want to be overheard giving the lie to your dainty conversation of a few minutes ago. Isn't there anywhere else we can lunch, because they are evidently on the same tack?"

"Yes," I replied, turning back, "there's the Marine just behind you.

That'll do us well. Then we can come out and talk freely where there's no chance of our being overheard."

So we lunched at the Marine Hotel, after which we strolled round the harbour, along the most appalling "road" in the history of civilisation, popularly and well named "the Kyber." Safely out of earshot, I made a hurried mental _precis_ of the events of the past few days, and gave Dennis the resultant summary as tersely as I could.

"I'm very glad you had Mr. Garnesk with you," said Dennis at last, with a glance of frank admiration at the young specialist.

"Not so glad as I am," I replied fervently. "What I should have done without him heaven only knows. I can't even guess."

"Oh, nonsense!" cried Garnesk, in modest protest. "I haven't been able to do anything. Our one advance was a piece of pure luck--the discovery that Miss McLeod could see by the light of a red lamp. We have decided to keep that quite to ourselves, Mr. Burnham."

"Of course," agreed Dennis, so emphatically that I laughed.

"Why so decided, Den?" I asked, for I felt that I should like to climb to the topmost pinnacle of the highest peak in all the world and shout the good news to the four corners of the earth.

"I'm not a scientist, Ron," Dennis replied. "That may account for the heresy of my profound disbelief in science. I wouldn't cross the road to see a 'miracle.' The twentieth century is uncongenial to anything of that sort. Take it from me, old chap, there's a man at the back of this--not a nice man, I admit, but an ordinary human being to all outward appearances--and when we catch a glimpse of his outward appearances we shall know what to do."

"Yes, _when_ we do," I sighed.

"You mustn't let Ewart get depressed about things, Mr. Burnham. He very naturally looks at this business from a different standpoint.

With him it is a tragic, mysterious horror, which threatens the well-being, if not the existence, of a life that is dearer to him than his own."

"I'll look after him," said Dennis, with a grim determination which made even Garnesk laugh.

"When you two precious people have finished nursing me," I said, "I hope you'll allow me to point out that that very reason gives me a prior claim to take any risks or run into any dangers that may crop up from now on. If there is any trouble brewing, particularly dangerous trouble, then it is my place to tackle it. I am deeply grateful to you fellows for all you have done and are doing and intend to do, but the nursing comes from the other side. I can't let you run risks in a cause which is more mine in the nature of things than yours."

"I fancy," said Dennis, "that even your eloquent speeches will have very little effect when it comes to real trouble. If danger comes it'll come suddenly, and we shall be best helping our common cause by looking after ourselves."

"Hear, hear," said Garnesk, and I could only mutter my thanks and my grat.i.tude for the possession of two staunch friends.

"To get back to business," I said presently, "why did you want me to bluff Hilderman like that?"

"Because," said Garnesk slowly, "I'm not sure that Hilderman is the man to take into our confidence too completely. It's not that I don't trust the man, but he looks so alert and so cute, and has such a dreamy way of pretending he isn't listening to you when you know jolly well that he is, that I have a feeling we ought to be careful with him."

"Very much what Dennis said about him the first time he saw him. But if you don't suspect him, and he is a very cute man, why not trust him and have the benefit of his intelligence?"

"How would you answer that question yourself, Ewart?" the specialist asked quietly.

"Oh," I laughed, "I should point out that his cuteness may be the very reason that we don't suspect him."

"Precisely," Garnesk agreed; "and that is partly my answer as well."