dly in the inn at Broadford, where they fed me
nobly on fresh sea-trout and I first tasted an excellent liqueur made
of honey and whisky. Next morning I was early afoot, and well before
midday was in sight of the narrows of the Kyle, and the two little
stone clachans which face each other across the strip of sea.

About two miles from the place at a turn of the road I came upon a
farmer's gig, drawn up by the wayside, with the horse cropping the
moorland grass. A man sat on the bank smoking, with his left arm hooked
in the reins. He was an oldish man, with a short, square figure, and a
woollen comforter enveloped his throat.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The Adventures of a Bagman

'Ye're punctual to time, Mr Brand,' said the voice of Amos. 'But losh!
man, what have ye done to your breeks! And your buits? Ye're no just
very respectable in your appearance.'

I wasn't. The confounded rocks of the Coolin had left their mark on my
shoes, which moreover had not been cleaned for a week, and the same
hills had rent my jacket at the shoulders, and torn my trousers above
the right knee, and stained every part of my apparel with peat and
lichen.

I cast myself on the bank beside Amos and lit my pipe. 'Did you get my
message?' I asked.

'Ay. It's gone on by a sure hand to the destination we ken of. Ye've
managed well, Mr Brand, but I wish ye were back in London.' He sucked
at his pipe, and the shaggy brows were pulled so low as to hide the
wary eyes. Then he proceeded to think aloud.

'Ye canna go back by Mallaig. I don't just understand why, but they're
lookin' for you down that line. It's a vexatious business when your
friends, meanin' the polis, are doing their best to upset your plans
and you no able to enlighten them. I could send word to the Chief
Constable and get ye through to London without a stop like a load of
fish from Aiberdeen, but that would be spoilin' the fine character
ye've been at such pains to construct. Na, na! Ye maun take the risk
and travel by Muirtown without ony creedentials.'

'It can't be a very big risk,' I interpolated.

'I'm no so sure. Gresson's left the _Tobermory_. He went by here
yesterday, on the Mallaig boat, and there was a wee blackavised man
with him that got out at the Kyle. He's there still, stoppin' at the
hotel. They ca' him Linklater and he travels in whisky. I don't like
the looks of him.'

'But Gresson does not suspect me?'

'Maybe no. But ye wouldna like him to see ye hereaway