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Jaikie had not a pleasant journey that autumn afternoon over the ridge that separates Callowa from Garroch and up the latter stream to the dark hills of its source. To begin with, he was wheeling the bicycle which Dougal had ridden, for that compromising object must be restored as soon as possible to its owner; and, since this was no easy business on indifferent roads, he had to walk most of the way. Also, in addition to the pack on his back, he had Dougal’s, which contained the parcel duly handed over to him a mile up the road by a Castle Gay servant… But his chief discomfort was spiritual.

From his tenderest years he had been something of a philosopher. It was his quaint and placid reasonableness which had induced Dickson McCunn, when he took in hand the destinies of the Gorbals Diehards, to receive him into his own household. He had virtually adopted Jaikie, because he seemed more broken to domesticity than any of the others. The boy had speedily become at home in his new environment, and with effortless ease had accepted and adapted himself to the successive new worlds which opened to him. He had the gift of living for the moment where troubles were concerned and not anticipating them, but in pleasant things of letting his fancy fly happily ahead. So he accepted docilely his present task, since he was convinced of the reason for it; Dougal was right—he was the better person of the two to deal with Craw… But the other, the imaginative side of him, was in revolt. That morning he had received an illumination. He had met the most delightful human being he had ever encountered. And now he was banished from her presence.

He was not greatly interested in Craw. Dougal was different; to Dougal Craw was a figure of mystery and power; there was romance in the midge controlling the fate of the elephant. To Jaikie he was only a dull, sententious, elderly gentleman, probably with a bad temper, and he was chained to him for an indefinite number of days. It sounded a bleak kind of holiday… But at Castle Gay there were the Evallonians, and Mrs Brisbane-Brown, and an immense old house now in a state of siege, and Alison’s bright eyes, and a stage set for preposterous adventures. The lucky Dougal was there in the front of it, while he was condemned to wander lonely in the wings.

But, as the increasing badness of the road made riding impossible, and walking gave him a better chance for reflection, the prospect slowly brightened. It had been a fortunate inspiration of his, the decision to keep Craw hidden in the near neighbourhood. It had been good sense, too, for the best place of concealment was the unexpected. He would not be too far from the main scene of conflict, and he might even have a chance of a share in it … Gradually his interest began to wake in the task itself. After all he had the vital role. If a man-hunt was on foot, he had charge of the quarry. It was going to be a difficult business, and it might be exciting. He remembered the glow in Alison’s eyes, and the way she had twined and untwined her fingers. They were playing in the same game, and if he succeeded it was her approval he would win. Craw was of no more interest to him than the ball in a Rugby match, but he was determined to score a try with him between the posts.

In this more cheerful mood he arrived at the Back House about the hour of seven, when the dark had fallen. Mrs Catterick met him with an anxious face and the high lilt of the voice which in her type is the consequence of anxiety.

“Ye’re back? Blithe I am to see ye. And ye’re your lane? Dougal’s awa on anither job, says you? Eh, man, ye’ve been sair looked for. The puir body ben the hoose has been neither to haud nor to bind. He was a mile doun the road this mornin’ in his pappymashy buits. He didna tak a bite o’ denner, and sin’ syne he’s been sittin’ glunchin’ or lookin’ out o’ the windy.” Then, in a lowered voice, “For guid sake, Jaikie, do something, or he’ll loss his reason.”

“It’s all right, Mrs Catterick. I’ve come back to look after him. Can you put up with us for another night? We’ll be off to-morrow morning.”

“Fine that. John’ll no be hame or Monday. Ye’ll hae your supper thegither? It’s an ill job a jyler’s. Erchie will whistle lang ere he sees me at it again.”

Jaikie did not at once seek Mr Craw’s presence. He spread his map of the Canonry on the kitchen table and brooded over it. It was only when he knew from the clatter of dishes that the meal was ready in the best room that he sought that chamber.

He found the great man regarding distastefully a large dish of bacon and eggs and a monstrous brown teapot enveloped in a knitted cosy of purple and green. He had found John Catterick’s razor too much for him, for he had not shaved that morning, his suit had acquired further whitewash from the walls of his bedroom, and his scanty hair was innocent of the brush. He had the air of one who had not slept well and had much on his mind.

The eyes which he turned on Jaikie had the petulance of a sulky child.

“So you’ve come at last,” he grumbled. “Where is Mr Crombie? Have you brought a car?”

“I came on a bicycle. Dougal—Mr Crombie—is staying at Castle Gay.”

“What on earth do you mean? Did you deliver my letter to Mr Barbon?”

Jaikie nodded. He felt suddenly rather dashed in spirits. Mr Craw, untidy and unshaven and as cross as a bear, was not an attractive figure, least of all as a companion for an indefinite future.

“I had better tell you exactly what happened,” he said, and he recounted the incidents of the previous evening up to the meeting with Tibbets. “So we decided that it would be wiser not to try to deliver the letter last night.”

Mr Craw’s face showed extreme irritation, not unmingled with alarm.

“The insolence of it!” he declared. “You say the Wire man has got the story of my disappearance, and has published it in to-day’s issue? He knows nothing of the cause which brought me here?”

“Nothing. And he need never know, unless he tracks you to this place. The Wire stands a good chance of making a public goat of itself. Dougal telephoned to your Glasgow office and your own papers published to-day the announcement that you had gone abroad.”

Mr Craw looked relieved. “That was well done. As a matter of fact I had planned to go abroad to-day, though I did not intend to announce it. It has never been my habit to placard my movements like a court circular… So far good, Mr Galt. I shall travel south to-morrow night. But what possessed Barbon not to send the car at once? I must go back to Castle Gay before I leave, and the sooner the better. My reappearance will spike the guns of my journalistic enemies.”

“It would,” Jaikie assented. “But there’s another difficulty, Mr Craw. The announcement of your going abroad to-day was not sent to your papers first by Dougal. It was sent by very different people. The day before yesterday, when you were in Glasgow, these same people sent you a letter. Yesterday they telephoned to Mr Barbon, wanting to see you, and then he opened the letter. Here it is.” He presented the missive, whose heavy seals Mr Barbon had already broken.

Mr Craw looked at the first page, and then subsided heavily into a chair. He fumbled feverishly for his glasses, and his shaking hand had much ado to fix them on his nose. As he read, his naturally ruddy complexion changed to a clayey white. He finished his reading, and sat staring before him with unseeing eyes, his fingers picking nervously at the sheets of notepaper. Jaikie, convinced that he was about to have a fit, and very much alarmed, poured him out a scalding cup of tea. He drank a mouthful, and spilled some over his waistcoat.

It was a full minute before he recovered a degree of self-possession, but self-possession only made him look more ghastly, for it revealed the perturbation of his mind.

“You have read this?” he stammered.

“No. But Mr Barbon told us the contents of it.”

“Us?” he almost screamed.

“Yes. We had a kind of conference on the situation this afternoon. At the Mains. There was Mr Barbon, and Miss Westwater, and her aunt, and Dougal and myself. We made a sort of plan, and that’s why I’m here.”

Mr Craw clutched at his dignity, but he could not grasp it. The voice which came from his lips was small, and plaintive, and childish, and, as Jaikie noted, it had lost its precise intonation and had returned to the broad vowels of Kilmaclavers.

“This is a dreadful business… You can’t realise how dreadful… I can’t meet these people. I can’t be implicated in this affair. It would mean absolute ruin to my reputation… Even the fact of their being in this countryside is terribly compromising. Supposing my enemies got word of it! They would put the worst construction on it, and they would make the public believe it… As you are aware, I have taken a strong line about Evallonian politics—an honest line. I cannot recant my views without looking a fool. But if I do not recant my views, the presence of those infernal fools will make the world believe that I am actually dabbling in their conspiracies. I, who have kept myself aloof from the remotest semblance of political intrigue! Oh, it is too monstrous!”

“I don’t think the Wire people will get hold of it very easily,” was Jaikie’s attempt at comfort.

“Why not?” he snapped.

“Because the Evallonians will prevent it. They seem determined people, determined to have you to themselves. Otherwise they wouldn’t have got your papers to announce that you had gone abroad.”

This was poor comfort for Mr Craw. He ejaculated “Good God!” and fell into a painful meditation. It was not only his repute he was thinking of, but his personal safety. These men had come to coerce him, and their coercion would not stop at trifles. I do not know what picture presented itself to his vision, but it was probably something highly melodramatic (for he knew nothing at first hand of foreign peoples)—dark sinister men, incredibly cunning, with merciless faces and lethal weapons in every pocket. He groaned aloud. Then a thought struck him.

“You say they telephoned to Castle Gay,” he asked wildly. “Where are they?”

“They are at Knockraw. They have taken the place for the autumn. Mr Barbon, as I told you, refused to let them in. They seemed to know about your absence from the Castle, but they believe that he can put his hand on you if he wants. So they are going there at eleven o’clock to-morrow morning, and they say they will take no denial.”

“At Knockraw!” It was the cry of a fugitive who learns that the avenger of blood is in the next room.

“Yes,” said Jaikie. “We’ve got the Recording Angel established in our back garden on a strictly legal tenure. We must face that fact.”

Mr Craw seemed disinclined to face it. He sunk his face in his hands and miserably hunched his shoulders. Jaikie observed that the bacon and eggs were growing cold, but the natural annoyance of a hungry man was lost in pity for the dejected figure before him. Here was one who must have remarkable talents—business talents, at any rate, even if he were not much of a thinker or teacher. He was accustomed to make men do what he wanted. He had the gift of impressing millions of people with his strength and wisdom. He must often have taken decisions which required nerve and courage. He had inordinate riches, and to Jaikie, who had not a penny, the acquisition of great wealth seemed proof of a rare and mysterious power. Yet here was this great man, unshaven and unkempt, sunk in childish despair, because of a situation which to the spectator himself seemed simple and rather amusing.

Jaikie had a considerable stock of natural piety. He hated to see human nature, in which he profoundly believed, making a discreditable exhibition of itself. Above all he hated to see an old man—Mr Craw seemed to him very old, far older than Dickson McCunn—behaving badly. He could not bring himself to admit that age, which brought success, did not also bring wisdom. Moreover he was by nature kindly, and did not like to see a fellow-being in pain. So he applied himself to the duties of comforter.

“Cheer up, Mr Craw,” he said. “This thing is not so bad as all that. There’s at least three ways out of it.”

There was no answer, save for a slight straightening of the shoulders, so Jaikie continued:

“First, you can carry things with a high hand. Go back to Castle Gay and tell every spying journalist to go to blazes. Sit down in your own house and be master there. Your position won’t suffer. If the Wire gets hold of the story of the students’ rag, what does it matter? It will be forgotten in two days, when the next murder or divorce comes along. Besides, you behaved well in it. You kept your temper. It’s not a thing to be ashamed of. The folk who’ll look foolish will be Tibbets with his bogus mysteries, and the editor who printed his stuff. If I were you I’d put the whole story of your adventure in your own papers and make a good yarn of it. Then you’ll have people laughing with you, not at you.”

Mr Craw was listening. Jaikie understood him to murmur something about the Evallonians.

“As for the Evallonians,” he continued, “I’d meet them. Ask the whole bally lot to luncheon or dinner. Tell them that Evallonia is not your native land, and that you’ll take no part in her politics. Surely a man can have his views about a foreign country without being asked to get a gun and fight for it. If they turn nasty, tell them also to go to the devil. This is a free country, and a law-abiding country. There’s the police in the last resort. And you could raise a defence force from Castle Gay itself that would make yon foreign bandits look silly. Never mind if the thing gets into the papers. You’ll have behaved well, and you’ll have reason to be proud of it.”

Jaikie spoke in a tone of extreme gentleness and moderation. He was most anxious to convince his hearer of the desirability of this course, for it would remove all his own troubles. He and Dougal would be able with a clear conscience to continue their walking tour, and every minute his distaste was increasing for the prospect of taking the road in Mr Craw’s company.

But that moderation was an error in tactics. Had he spoken harshly, violently, presenting any other course as naked cowardice, it is possible that he might have struck an answering spark from Mr Craw’s temper, and forced him to a declaration from which he could not have retreated. His equable reasonableness was his undoing. The man sitting hunched up in the chair considered the proposal, and his terrors, since they were not over-ridden by anger, presented it in repulsive colours to his reason.

“No,” he said, “I can’t do that. It is not possible… You do not understand… I am not an ordinary man. My position is unique. I have won an influence, which I hold in trust for great public causes. I dare not impair it by being mixed up in farce or brawling.”

Jaikie recognised the decision as final. He also inferred from the characteristic stateliness of the words and the recovered refinement of the accent, that Mr Craw was beginning to be himself again.

“Very well,” he said briskly. “The second way is that you go abroad as if nothing had happened. We can get a car to take you to Gledmouth, and Mr Barbon will bring on your baggage. Go anywhere you like abroad, and leave the Evallonians to beat at the door of an empty house. If their mission becomes known, it won’t do you any harm, for you’ll be able to prove an alibi.”

Mr Craw’s consideration of this project was brief, and his rejection was passionate. Mr Barbon had been right in his forecast.

“No, no,” he cried, “that is utterly and eternally impossible. On the Continent of Europe I should be at their mercy. They are organised in every capital. Their intelligence service would discover me—you admit yourself that they know a good deal about my affairs even in this country. I should have no protection, for I do not believe in the Continental police.”

“What are you afraid of?” Jaikie asked with a touch of irritation. “Kidnapping?”

Mr Craw assented darkly. “Some kind of violence,” he said.

“But,” Jaikie argued in a voice which he tried to keep pleasant, “how would that serve their purpose? They don’t need you as a hostage. They certainly don’t want you as leader of an armed revolution. They want the support of your papers, and the influence which they think you possess with the British Government. You’re no use to them except functioning in London.”

It was a second mistake in tactics, for Jaikie’s words implied some disparagement of Craw the man as contrasted with Craw the newspaper proprietor. There was indignation as well as fear in the reply.

“No. I will not go abroad at such a time. It would be insanity. It would be suicide. You must permit me to judge what is politic in such circumstances. I assure you I do not speak without reflection.”

“Very well,” said Jaikie, whose spirits had descended to his boots. “You can’t go back to Castle Gay. You won’t go abroad. You must stay in this country and lie low till the Evallonians clear out.”

Mr Craw said nothing, but by his silence he signified an unwilling assent to this alternative.

“But when?” he asked drearily after a pause. “When will the Evallonians give up their mission? Have we any security for their going within a reasonable time? You say that they have taken Knockraw for the season. They may stay till Christmas.”

“We’ve left a pretty effective gang behind us to speed their departure.”

“Who?”

“Well, there’s Mrs Brisbane-Brown. I wouldn’t like to be opposed to yon woman.”

“The tenant of the Mains. I scarcely know her.”

“No, she said that when she met you you looked at her as if she were Lady Godiva. Then there’s her niece, Miss Westwater.”

“The child I have seen riding in the park? What can she do?”

Jaikie smiled. “She might do a lot. And there’s your staff at the Castle, Mr Barbon and the rest. And most important of all, there’s Dougal.”

Mr Craw brightened perceptibly at the last name. Dougal was his own henchman, an active member of the great Craw brotherhood. From him he could look for loyal and presumably competent service. Jaikie saw the change in expression, and improved the occasion.

“You don’t know Dougal as I know him. He’s the most determined fellow on earth. He’ll stick at nothing. I’ll wager he’ll shift the Evallonians, if he has to take to smoke bombs and poison gas… Isn’t it about time that we had supper? I’m famished with hunger.”

The bacon and eggs had to be sent back to be heated up, and Mrs Catterick had to make a fresh brew of tea. Under the cheering influence of the thought of Dougal Mr Craw made quite a respectable meal. A cigar would have assisted his comfort, but he had long ago emptied his case, and he was compelled to accept one of Jaikie’s cheap Virginian cigarettes. His face remained a little clouded, and he frequently corrugated his brows in thought, but the black despair of half an hour ago had left him.

When the remains of supper had been cleared away he asked to see Jaikie’s map, which for some time he studied intently.

“I must reach the railway as soon as possible,” he said. “On the other side from Castle Gay, of course. I must try to walk to some place where I can hire a conveyance.”

“Where did you think of going?” Jaikie asked.

“London,” was the reply. “I can find privacy in the suite in my office.”

“Have you considered that that will be watched? These Evallonians, as we know, are careful people who mean business, and they seem to have a pretty useful intelligence system. You will be besieged in your office just as badly as if you were at Castle Gay. And with far more publicity.”

Mr Craw pondered ruefully. “You think so? Perhaps you are right. What about a quiet hotel?”

Jaikie shook his head. “No good. They will find you out. And if you go to Glasgow or Edinburgh or Manchester or Bournemouth it will be the same. It doesn’t do to underrate the cleverness of the enemy. If Mr Craw goes anywhere in these islands as Mr Craw some hint of it will get out, and they’ll be on to it like a knife.”

Despair was creeping back into the other’s face. “Have you any other course to suggest?” he faltered.

“I propose that you and I go where you’re not expected, and that’s just in the Canonry. The Evallonians will look for you in Castle Gay and everywhere else except in its immediate neighbourhood. It’s darkest under the light, you see. Nobody knows you by sight, and you and I can take a quiet saunter through the Canonry without anybody being the wiser, while Dougal finishes the job at the Castle.”

Mr Craw’s face was a blank, and Jaikie hastened to complete his sketch.

“We’ll be on a walking tour, the same as Dougal and I proposed, but we’ll get out of the hills. An empty countryside like this is too conspicuous… I know the place, and I’ll guarantee to keep you well hidden. I’ve brought Dougal’s pack for you. In it there’s a suit of pyjamas and a razor and some shirts and things which I got from Mr Barbon… “

Mr Craw cried out like one in pain.

“… And a pair of strong boots,” Jaikie concluded soothingly. “I’m glad I remembered that. The boots you have on would be in ribbons the first day on these stony roads.”

It was Jaikie’s third error in tactics. Mr Craw had experienced various emotions, including terror, that evening, and now he was filled with a horrified disgust. He had created for himself a padded and cosseted life; he had scaled an eminence of high importance; he had made his daily existence a ritual every item of which satisfied his self-esteem. And now this outrageous young man proposed that he should scrap it all and descend to the pit out of which thirty years ago he had climbed. Even for safety the price was far too high. Better the perils of high politics, where at least he would remain a figure of consequence. He actually shivered with repulsion, and his anger gave him a momentary air of dignity and power.

“I never,” he said slowly, “never in my life listened to anything so preposterous. You suggest that I—_I_—should join you in wandering like a tramp through muddy Scottish parishes and sleeping in mean inns!… To-morrow I shall go to London. And meantime I am going to bed.”