'No, sir; these London hotels would ruin the cunzie' (the Mint).

Merton wondered whether the Cunzie was the title of some wealthy Scotch
peer.

'And I'm off for Kirkburn by the night express. Here's wishing luck,'
and the old sinner finished the brandy.

'May I call a cab for you--it still rains?'

'No, no, I'll travel,' by which the economical peer meant that he would
walk.

He then shook Merton by the hand, and hobbled downstairs attended by his
adviser.

'Did Mr. Logan call?' Merton asked the office boy when the marquis had
trotted off.

'Yes, sir; he said you would find him at the club.'

'Call a hansom,' said Merton, 'and put up the notice, "out."' He drove
to the club, where he found Logan ordering luncheon.

'Hullo, shall we lunch together?' Logan asked.

'Not yet: I want to speak to you.'

'Nothing gone wrong? Why did you shut me out of the office?'

'Where can we talk without being disturbed?'

'Try the smoking-room on the top storey,' said Logan, 'Nobody will have
climbed so high so early.'

They made the ascent, and found the room vacant: the windows looked out
over swirling smoke and trees tossing in a wind of early spring.

'Quiet enough,' said Logan, taking an arm-chair. 'Now out with it! You
make me quite nervous.'

'A client has come with what looks a promising piece of business. We are
to disentangle--'

'A royal duke?'

'No. _You_!'

'A practical joke,' said Logan. 'Somebody pulling your leg, as people
say, a most idiotic way of speaking. What sort of client was he, or she?
We'll be even with them.'

'The client's card is here,' said Merton, and he handed to Logan that of
the Marquis of Restalrig.

'You never saw him before; are you sure it was the man?' asked Logan,
staggered in his scepticism.

'A very good imitation. Dressed like a farmer at a funeral. Talked like
all the kailyards. Snuffed, and asked for brandy, and went and came,
walking, in this weather.'

'By Jove, it is my venerated cousin. And he had heard about me and Miss ---'

'He was quite well informed.'

Logan looked very grave. He rose and stared out of the window into the
mist. Then he came back, and stood beside Merton's chair. He spoke in a
low voice:

'This can only mean one thing.'

'Only that one thing,' said Merton, dropping his own voice.

'What did you say to him?'

'I told him that his best plan, as the head of the house, was to approach
you himself.'

'And he said?