Johnstone of the Border

"Yin's gone; I dinna ken where. A shooting man frae Edinbro' bought Tarn Grahame's Nance. Him and another took her off soon after ye came."

"How do you know he was an Edinburgh man?"

"There was a Waverley label on his portmanteau and he didna' speak like us. Still, I alloo it might have been Inverness."

"And the man who was with him?"

"Ye canna' tell where a man comes frae when he keeps his mouth shut, but he was a sailor by the way he handilt the gear."

Andrew asked no more questions, and they went back to the car. When they reached Appleyard Dick met them in the hall.

"I've found a way of letting you have your shooting," he said in an apologetic tone. "Young Ross will go with you. There isn't a snipe in the mosses he doesn't know about. If there's any sport to be had, he'll see you get it."

"I suppose this means you're going with Williamson?"

"I really want to go, if you don't mind very much. I may be back before you leave and you'll only be away a week."

"That's so," said Andrew, "Well, you'd better bear in mind what the doctor told you."

He moved on, frowning, and presently found Elsie in the drawing-room.

"I did my best, but Dick's going with Williamson," he said. "You didn't want him to?"

"No," she answered frankly, but with some embarrassment. "Of course, there's no obvious reason for our interfering."

"That was my difficulty. Dick will soon be master here. I'm only his guest, and Williamson is a friend of Staffer's. Nobody knows anything against the man."

"And yet – " Elsie stopped.

"I'm vexed? You can take it that I don't like to be beaten, particularly by my youthful cousin," Andrew answered with a smile, wishing to allay her uneasiness.

Staffer and Mrs. Woodhouse came in then; and when the party broke up for the night, Whitney went with Andrew to his room.

"I guess you noticed the coincidences that happened this evening," he said, sitting on the broad window-seat and lighting a cigarette.

"I feel rather annoyed by Dick, if that is what you mean," Andrew replied in a discouraging tone.

Whitney smiled.

"Not altogether that. One," – enumerating them on his fingers – "you try to stop his going with the fellow and just about put it over. Two, Staffer mentions the boat and rushes us off in his car. Three, Marshall says the boat's all right and hints Staffer may have mistaken his remarks. Four, we return and find that Dick has changed his plans. Five, – "

"Oh, I'll admit that Staffer is a clever fellow," Andrew interrupted. "I've known that for some time."

"I've an idea that Mackellar's on his trail; and – well, if you need me, I'm ready. You're playing a straight game, and I want you to win. It would be a fine thing for you to save Dick; and Elsie expects it of you. Then, Staffer knows he's up against you. Keep it at that; it's quite enough for the present."

"You mean there's something else going on?" Andrew said in a curiously quiet voice.

"Of course! But you want to let Staffer think you're only fighting him for your cousin. He can understand that and won't suspect you of guessing he's engaged in another game. I'll play up to you as much as I can. Staffer doesn't take much stock in me."

"But what object can he have?"

"Can't say," Whitney answered non-committally. "But he may be forced to show his hand. Well, I'll get along to bed."

Dick started for London with Williamson the next morning; and he let himself go when he got there. With his companion's help, he spent several days and the greater part of several nights in exciting amusements and adventures. It was not often the sparkling cup of pleasure was held out to him full, and he drained it to the dregs. As one result of this, he did not feel quite up to the mark; but Dick was something of a philosopher and knew that one cannot get anything without payment. Besides, if quietness was good for him, it was to be had in abundance at Appleyard.

For all that, when he left Euston at midnight, a reaction had begun, and he wondered whether he had made the pace too hot. On reflection, however, he suspected that it had rather been made for him and he had tactfully been encouraged to fall into his companion's stride. Well, he had had a glorious time; but he wished his head did not ache so badly and he could get rid of the unpleasant, shaky feeling that troubled him, because there was some business he must talk over with Williamson before they reached Rugby.

"We had better get things settled now," he said. "Your friend, Marsden, has my note for thirty pounds, but you paid the other fellows, as well as for that supper, and the hotel bill. How much am I in?"

Williamson took out his notebook, and Dick got a shock.

"Forty pounds in an evening!" he exclaimed. "I knew I was going it, but this is a bit of a facer. With all the other things, it's a pretty hot pace; especially as I have just half a sovereign left."

"You needn't be disturbed about it. Your promise is good enough; I can wait."

"We can't leave it at that," Dick objected, and added with a forced grin: "Besides, you might have to wait some time."

"Then what do you propose?"

Dick wished his head were clearer, for he was getting dizzy.

"I thought you might see Craven and arrange the thing with him. Of course, he's holding a good lot of my paper, but he gets good interest."

Williamson produced a fountain pen and a sheet of paper.

"Very well. As it happens, I expect to meet him to-morrow."

It struck Dick that the man was suspiciously prompt; indeed he seemed to have been waiting for the request.

Dick suddenly felt as if he were suffocating; he could not breathe, and his dizziness was turning to blackness. He threw up the window and leaned his head on the sill, gasping once or twice. It was a dark night and the express was traveling fast. Its lights sped smoothly along the black hedgerows beside the line and flashed across water lying on swampy fields. Blurred trees raced past, twinkling points were suddenly pricked in the obscurity a mile away and then rushed back and vanished, and a faint glimmer flickered in the sky ahead. Dick thought this marked Rugby, and sitting back again, he tried to pull himself together.

"I'll make it enough to cover everything and put us straight," he said as he took the pen.

He found writing difficult, for the bracing effect of the cold wind was wearing off, but the note was written and Williamson carefully put it into his pocket-book before looking at his watch.

"We're due in a few minutes," he said. "Will you get down and have a drink? You don't look very fit."

"No," Dick answered. "If I'd had fewer drinks in town I'd probably feel better now."

The speed began to slacken and Williamson collected his belongings. Dick handed him his coat as the train stopped, but did not shake hands with him. Somehow he felt he would rather not. After a careless good-by, Williamson jumped down, and Dick sat in a corner, struggling against the faintness that was overcoming him. He would feel better when the train started, but he must be alone; he could not have people looking at him while he felt as he did.

Nobody else got in; he heard the guard's whistle and then the engine begin to pant. There was a jerk and the lights on the platform drifted past; but his head was reeling and he could not get his breath. Falling away from the corner, he made a half-conscious effort to keep on the seat, and for some time afterward he remembered nothing.

He was roused by a rattle that swelled into a roar; and, getting up shakily, he saw the lights of a station flash past. There were other lights all around, running back into the distance in rows, while the red glow of fires that streamed above the roofs seemed to indicate a manufacturing town. Dick noted this vacantly, for he felt weak and cold. They must be in Lancashire, and he had lain in a dead faint for a long time. With difficulty he pulled up the window and got back to his corner.

"If this kind of thing happens often, the fellows who hold my notes will get a painful shock," he thought, with a wry smile, and closed his eyes.

CHAPTER XIII