next week. Do you understand?"

"Perfectly," said Dickson with some fervour. He had learned exactly
what he wanted. The factor was telling him lies. Now he knew where to
place Mr. Loudon.

He always looked back upon what followed as a very creditable piece of
play-acting for a man who had small experience in that line.

"Is the old lady a wee wizened body, with a black cap and something
like a white cashmere shawl round her shoulders?"

"You describe her exactly," Mr. Loudon replied eagerly.

"That would explain the foreigners."

"Of course. We couldn't have natives who would make the thing the
clash of the countryside."

"Of course not. But it must be a difficult job to keep a business like
that quiet. Any wandering policeman might start inquiries. And
supposing the lady became violent?"

"Oh, there's no fear of that. Besides, I've a position in this
country--Deputy Fiscal and so forth--and a friend of the Chief
Constable. I think I may be trusted to do a little private explaining
if the need arose."

"I see," said Dickson. He saw, indeed, a great deal which would give
him food for furious thought. "Well, I must possess my soul in
patience. Here's my Glasgow address, and I look to you to send me a
telegram whenever you're ready for me. I'm at the Salutation to-night,
and go home to-morrow with the first train. Wait a minute"--and he
pulled out his watch--"there's a train stops at Auchenlochan at 10.17.
I think I'll catch that.... Well Mr. Loudon, I'm very much obliged to
you, and I'm glad to think that it'll no' be long till we renew our
acquaintance."

The factor accompanied him to the door, diffusing geniality. "Very
pleased indeed to have met you. A pleasant journey and a quick return."

The street was still empty. Into a corner of the arches opposite the
moon was shining, and Dickson retired thither to consult his map of the
neighbourhood. He found what he wanted, and, as he lifted his eyes,
caught sight of a man coming down the causeway. Promptly he retired
into the shadow and watched the new-comer. There could be no mistake
about the figure; the bulk, the walk, the carriage of the head marked
it for Dobson. The innkeeper went slowly past the factor's house; then
halted and retraced his steps; then, making sure that the street was
empty, turned into the side lane which led to the garden.

This was what sailors call a cross-bearing, and strengthened Dickson's
conviction. He delayed