ggleswick fashion was bareheaded, so that the sun glinted from her
hair. Ivery swept his hat off and made her a pretty speech, while I
faced her steady eyes with the expressionlessness of the stage
conspirator.

'A charming child,' he observed as we passed on. 'Not without a touch
of seriousness, too, which may yet be touched to noble issues.'

I considered, as I made my way to my final supper with the Jimsons,
that the said child was likely to prove a sufficiently serious business
for Mr Moxon Ivery before the game was out.

CHAPTER FOUR

Andrew Amos

I took the train three days later from King's Cross to Edinburgh. I
went to the Pentland Hotel in Princes Street and left there a suit-case
containing some clean linen and a change of clothes. I had been
thinking the thing out, and had come to the conclusion that I must have
a base somewhere and a fresh outfit. Then in well-worn tweeds and with
no more luggage than a small trench kit-bag, I descended upon the city
of Glasgow.

I walked from the station to the address which Blenkiron had given me.
It was a hot summer evening, and the streets were filled with
bareheaded women and weary-looking artisans. As I made my way down the
Dumbarton Road I was amazed at the number of able-bodied fellows about,
considering that you couldn't stir a mile on any British front without
bumping up against a Glasgow battalion. Then I realized that there were
such things as munitions and ships, and I wondered no more.

A stout and dishevelled lady at a close-mouth directed me to Mr Amos's
dwelling. 'Twa stairs up. Andra will be in noo, havin' his tea. He's no
yin for overtime. He's generally hame on the chap of six.' I ascended
the stairs with a sinking heart, for like all South Africans I have a
horror of dirt. The place was pretty filthy, but at each landing there
were two doors with well-polished handles and brass plates. On one I
read the name of Andrew Amos.

A man in his shirt-sleeves opened to me, a little man, without a
collar, and with an unbuttoned waistcoat. That was all I saw of him in
the dim light, but he held out a paw like a gorilla's and drew me in.

The sitting-room, which looked over many chimneys to a pale yellow sky
against which two factory stalks stood out sharply, gave me light
enough to observe him fully. He was about five feet four,
broad-shouldered, and with a great towsy head of grizzled hair. He wore
spectacles, and his face was like some old-fashion