that he came except you and
me.'

'And the office boy,' said Merton.

'Oh, we'll square the office boy,' said Logan. 'Let's lunch!'

They lunched, and Logan, as was natural, though Merton urged him to
abstain, hung about the doors of Madame Claudine's emporium at the hour
when the young ladies returned to their homes. He walked home with Miss
Markham. He told her about his chances, and his views, and no doubt she
did not think him a person of schoolboy ideas, but a Bayard.

Two days passed, and in the afternoon of the third a telegram arrived for
Logan from Kirkburn.

'_Come at once_, _Marquis very ill. Dr. Douglas_, _Kirkburn_.'

There was no express train North till 8.45 in the evening. Merton dined
with Logan at King's Cross, and saw him off. He would reach his cousin's
house at about six in the morning if the train kept time.

About nine o'clock on the morning following Logan's arrival at Kirkburn
Merton was awakened: the servant handed to him a telegram.

'_Come instantly. Highly important. Logan_, _Kirkburn_.'

Merton dressed himself more rapidly than he had ever done, and caught the
train leaving King's Cross at 10 a.m.

II. The Emu's Feathers

The landscape through which Merton passed on his northward way to
Kirkburn, whither Logan had summoned him, was blank with snow. The snow
was not more than a couple of inches deep where it had not drifted, and,
as frost had set in, it was not likely to deepen. There was no fear of
being snowed up.

Merton naturally passed a good deal of his time in wondering what had
occurred at Kirkburn, and why Logan needed his presence. 'The poor old
gentleman has passed away suddenly, I suppose,' he reflected, 'and Logan
may think that I know where he has deposited his will. It is in some
place that the marquis called "the hidie hole," and that, from his
vagrant remarks, appears to be a secret chamber, as his ancestor meant to
keep James VI. there. I wish he had cut the throat of that prince, a bad
fellow. But, of course, I don't know where the chamber is: probably some
of the people about the place know, or the lawyer who made the will.'

However freely Merton's consciousness might play round the problem, he
could get no nearer to its solution. At Berwick he had to leave the
express, and take a local train. In the station, not a nice station, he
was accosted by a stranger, who asked if he was Mr. Merton? The
stranger, a wholesome, red-faced, blac