lquharter the case of provisions was safely transferred
to the porter with instructions to take charge of it till it was sent
for. During the next few minutes Dickson's mind began to work upon his
problem with a certain briskness. It was all nonsense that the law of
Scotland could not be summoned to the defence. The jewels had been
safely got rid of, and who was to dispute their possession? Not Dobson
and his crew, who had no sort of title, and were out for naked robbery.
The girl had spoken of greater dangers from new enemies--kidnapping,
perhaps. Well, that was felony, and the police must be brought in.
Probably if all were known the three watchers had criminal records,
pages long, filed at Scotland Yard. The man to deal with that side of
the business was Loudon the factor, and to him he was bound in the
first place. He had made a clear picture in his head of this Loudon--a
derelict old country writer, formal, pedantic, lazy, anxious only to
get an unprofitable business off his hands with the least possible
trouble, never going near the place himself, and ably supported in his
lethargy by conceited Edinburgh Writers to the Signet. "Sich notions
of business!" he murmured. "I wonder that there's a single county
family in Scotland no' in the bankruptcy court!" It was his mission to
wake up Mr. James Loudon.

Arrived at Auchenlochan he went first to the Salutation Hotel, a
pretentious place sacred to golfers. There he engaged a bedroom for
the night and, having certain scruples, paid for it in advance. He also
had some sandwiches prepared which he stowed in his pack, and filled
his flask with whisky. "I'm going home to Glasgow by the first train
in the to-morrow," he told the landlady, "and now I've got to see a
friend. I'll not be back till late." He was assured that there would
be no difficulty about his admittance at any hour, and directed how to
find Mr. Loudon's dwelling.

It was an old house fronting direct on the street, with a fanlight
above the door and a neat brass plate bearing the legend "Mr. James
Loudon, Writer." A lane ran up one side leading apparently to a
garden, for the moonlight showed the dusk of trees. In front was the
main street of Auchenlochan, now deserted save for a single roysterer,
and opposite stood the ancient town house, with arches where the
country folk came at the spring and autumn hiring fairs. Dickson rang
the antiquated bell, and was presently admitted to a dark hall fl