even in his fright he
realized that Loudon could not have told Dobson the tale of the
half-witted lady. The last remark had cut clean through all camouflage
and reached the quick.

"What the hell d'ye mean?" he cried. "Ye're a spy, are ye? Ye fat
little fool, for two cents I'd wring your neck."

Now it is an odd trait of certain mild people that a suspicion of
threat, a hint of bullying, will rouse some unsuspected obstinacy deep
down in their souls. The insolence of the man's speech woke a quiet
but efficient little devil in Dickson.

"That's a bonny tone to adopt in addressing a gentleman. If you've
nothing to hide what way are you so touchy? I can't be a spy unless
there's something to spy on."

The innkeeper pulled himself together. He was apparently acting on
instructions, and had not yet come to the end of them. He made an
attempt at a smile.

"I'm sure I beg your pardon if I spoke too hot. But it nettled me to
hear ye say that.... I'll be quite frank with ye, Mr. McCunn, and,
believe me, I'm speaking in your best interests. I give ye my word
there's nothing wrong up at the House. I'm on the side of the law, and
when I tell ye the whole story ye'll admit it. But I can't tell it ye
yet.... This is a wild, lonely bit, and very few folk bide in it. And
these are wild times, when a lot of queer things happen that never get
into the papers. I tell ye it's for your own good to leave Dalquharter
for the present. More I can't say, but I ask ye to look at it as a
sensible man. Ye're one that's accustomed to a quiet life and no'
meant for rough work. Ye'll do no good if you stay, and, maybe, ye'll
land yourself in bad trouble."

"Mercy on us!" Dickson exclaimed. "What is it you're expecting? Sinn
Fein?"

The innkeeper nodded. "Something like that."

"Did you ever hear the like? I never did think much of the Irish."

"Then ye'll take my advice and go home? Tell ye what, I'll drive ye to
the station."

Dickson got up from the bed, found his new safety-razor and began to
strop it. "No, I think I'll bide. If you're right there'll be more to
see than glaury roads."

"I'm warning ye, fair and honest. Ye... can't... be... allowed...
to... stay... here!"

"Well I never!" said Dickson. "Is there any law in Scotland, think
you, that forbids a man to stop a day or two with his auntie?"

"Ye'll stay?"

"Ay, I'll stay."

"By God, we'll see about that."

For a moment Dickson thought that he w