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Jaikie, being very wet, trotted most of the way back to Portaway. The rudiments of a plan were growing in his mind, and he had a great deal to think about and a great deal to do… The enemy was keeping a close watch, and must have got together a pretty considerable posse to help him. It was a bold thing for Allins himself to be in the neighbourhood of Castle Gay. But then, he reflected, Allins’s visits there had not been frequent—he generally took his holiday abroad in the autumn—and, when there, he probably never stirred much outside the park gates. Besides, he would not be easy to identify with the collar of his ulster turned up and a cap pulled over his brows. Only one who, like Jaikie himself, was on the look-out for him, would be likely to recognise him. No, Allins was safe enough.

He reached the Green Tree to find no Mr Craw or any message from him, and learned from a maid that he had sallied forth about half-past nine… Jaikie sat down and considered, while he ate a luncheon of bread and cheese. Mr Craw could not be wandering about Portaway—he knew the risk he ran in the town. He must have gone up the water. But where? Had he taken the bit between his teeth and returned to Castle Gay? It seemed the only explanation. Mr Craw, puffed up with last night’s achievement, had discovered a new self-reliance, and proposed to steer his own course.

It was an unforeseen complication, but there was no help for it. He must trust to luck, and go on with his own preparations. After all, for the moment Mr Craw was not the chief piece on the chess-board.

Jaikie dried the legs of his trousers at Mrs Fairweather’s kitchen fire. Then he took some pains with his toilet. His old flannel suit was shabby but well-cut, and, being a tidy mortal, he wore a neat, if slightly bedraggled, soft collar and tie. This would scarcely do, so, at a neighbouring draper’s, he purchased a rather high, hard, white collar and a very vulgar striped tie. At a pawnshop he invested in an imitation-silver watch-chain with a football shield appended, and discarded his own leather guard. His hair was a little too long, and when he had reduced it to further disorder by brushing it straight up, he regarded himself in a mirror and was satisfied. He looked the very image of the third-rate reporter or press-photographer, and he could guarantee an accent to correspond. His get-up was important, since he proposed to make himself ground-bait to attract the enemy.

His business was to find Allins, and he believed that the best covert to draw was the lounge of the Station Hotel. So, accompanied by the neglected Woolworth, he made his way to that hostelry. The hour was half-past two, and he argued that a gentleman who had lunched droughtily in the Hydropathic might be inclined for a mild stimulant. He sought the retreat of his friend, the head-porter, which had the advantage of possessing a glass window which commanded about three-quarters of the lounge.

To his relief he saw Allins sitting by a small table, and beside him Tibbets. They appeared to be deep in talk, Tibbets especially expounding and gesticulating.

That eminent journalist, after his Sunday’s triumph, had made a tour of the Canonry to get material for a general article on the prospects of the election. He had returned to Portaway with a longing for better food than that furnished by country inns, and had lunched heavily in the Station Hotel. While in the enjoyment of coffee and a liqueur, he had found himself next to Allins, and according to his wont had entered into conversation. Tibbets was a communicative soul, and in a little time had told his neighbour all about the Wire interview, and, since that neighbour showed a flattering interest, had faithfully recounted every detail of his visit to Castle Gay. He had not mentioned his adventure at Knockraw, for he was an honest man, and regarded complete secrecy on that point as part of the price of the Craw interview.

Jaikie observed the two, and rightly deduced what they were talking about. That was all to the good. It would convince Allins that Mr Craw was at Castle Gay, and lull any suspicion he might have entertained on the subject. He wished he knew himself where Mr Craw was… He was reminded of a duty. There was no public telephone in Portaway, and nothing of the kind in the Green Tree, but the head-porter had one in his cubby hole, and gave him permission to use it. He rang up Castle Gay and asked to speak to Dougal.

When he heard the gruff hullo of his friend, he informed him of Mr Craw’s disappearance. Had he arrived at the Castle?

“Good God!” came the answer. “He’s not here. What on earth are we to do? Isn’t he somewhere in Portaway?”

“I don’t think so. I believe he’s on his way to you. I wish… “

At that moment Jaikie was compelled to ring off, for Tibbets was leaving the lounge, and if he remained at the telephone Tibbets would see him. He particularly did not want to see Tibbets, so he subsided on to the floor. When he rose, Tibbets had left the hotel, but Allins was still in the lounge. He might leave at any moment, so there was no time to be lost.

Followed by Woolworth, whom the rain had made to look like a damp white sponge set on four spindly legs, he sauntered into the lounge and sat himself on a couch a yard or two from Allins, the dog squatting docilely beside him. He spoke to Woolworth in a way which was bound to attract the attention of his neighbour. While he looked round, as if for a waiter, he observed that Allins’s eye was fixed on him. He hoped that, in spite of his strange collar and tie, Allins would recognise him. He had been seen in company with Alison, he had been seen that very morning outside Castle Gay park: surely these were compromising circumstances which Allins must wish to investigate.

He was right. Allins smiled at him, came over, and sat down beside him on the couch.

“I saw you at the meeting the other night,” he said pleasantly. “What do you think of the local Communists?”

Jaikie was something of an actor. His manner was slightly defensive, and he looked at the speaker with narrowed eyes.

“Very middling.” His voice was the sing-song of the Glasgow slums. “My friend wasn’t bad. Ye heard him—I saw ye at the back of the hall. But yon Stubber!” He spat neatly into the adjacent fire. “He was just a flash in the pan. Fine words and no guts. I know the breed!”

“I didn’t hear Stubber—I had to leave early. Your friend, now. He seemed to know a good deal, but he wasn’t much of an orator.”

“Carroll’s his name. Jimmy’s red hot. But ye’re right. He’s no much of a speaker.”

Jaikie extracted from a waistcoat pocket a damaged Virginian cigarette, which he lit by striking a match on the seat of his trousers.

“Have a drink,” said Allins.

“I don’t mind if I do.”

“What will you have?”

“A dry Martini. If you had sampled as much bad whisky as me in these country pubs, you would never want to taste it again.”

Two cocktails were brought. “Here’s luck,” said Allins, and Jaikie swallowed his in two gulps as the best way to have done with it. One of his peculiarities was a dislike of alcohol in every form except beer, a dislike increased by various experiments at Cambridge. Another was that alcohol had curiously little effect on him. It made him sick or sleepy, but not drunk. “Are you a Communist?” Allins asked. Jaikie looked sly. “That’s asking… No, by God, I’m no afraid to confess it. I’m as red as hell… That’s my private opinion, but I’ve to earn my living and I keep it dark.”

“What’s your profession, if I may ask?”

“I’m a journalist. And with what d’ye think? The Craw Press. I’m on their Glasgow paper. I’m here to cover the election, but our folk don’t want much about it, so I’ve a lot of time on my hands.”

“That’s an odd place for a man of your opinions to be.”

“Ye may say so. But a chap must live. I’m just biding my time till I can change to something more congenial. But meanwhile I get plenty fun studying the man Craw.”

“Do you know him?”

“Never clapped eyes on him. None of us have. But he lives in this neighbourhood, and I’ve been picking up a lot of information about him these last few days.”

Jaikie had the art of watching faces without his scrutiny being observed, for his own eyes appeared to be gentle and abstracted. He respected Allins’s address. Allins’s manner was at once detached and ingratiating, and he spoke with a suspicion of a foreign accent. His eyes were small, sharp, and observant. He had the high gloss which good living and regular exercise give, but there were anxious lines about the corners of his eyes, and something brutal about the full compressed lips. The man was formidable, for he was desperately anxious; he was in a hole and would stick at little to get out of it.

Jaikie’s last words seemed to rouse him to a livelier interest.

“Have another drink,” he said.

“I don’t mind if I do. Same as before.”

Allins ordered a single cocktail. Jaikie sipped it, and then took the glass in his right hand. As he spoke he lowered it, and gradually bestowed its contents on the thick damp fleece of the couchant Woolworth, who was so wet already that he took no notice.

“Mr Craw lives here?” said Allins. “Of course. I remember now. His is the big house some miles up the river.”

“You passed it this morning,” said Jaikie, greatly daring. “Yon was you, wasn’t it, that I saw in the two-seater? I was having a yarn with an old fisherman body who had got a day’s fishing in the Callowa. I thought that, seeing he was allowed to fish the water, he could tell me something about Craw.”

“And did he?”

“Not him. He was only a Glasgow grocer that had got leave from the factor.”

“Then what have you found out about Mr Craw?”

“The queer thing is that I’ve found out so little. The man’s fair immured, and they won’t let people inside the place. I’m grand at getting on with plain folk, and I’ve made friends with a good few of the people on the estate. It’s a daft-like business. They keep the lodge gates locked up like prisons, but there’s a dozen places you can get into the park. I’ve been all round the gardens and not a soul to object. I could have got in at any one of twenty windows if I had wanted. Oh, I can tell ye, I’ve had some fun up there. Craw would fire me the morn if he knew what I had been up to.”

It was Jaikie’s cue to appear a little excited, as if the second cocktail had been too much for him.

“Have another drink?” said Allins.

“I don’t mind if I do. The same… No, wait a jiffey. I’ll have a lickyure brandy.”

As the waitress brought the drink, the head-porter also appeared.

“They’re ringin’ up frae Castle Gay, Mr Galt,” he said. “Wantin’ to know if ye’re still in the hotel?”

“Tell them I’ve just gone,” said Jaikie, and he winked at Allins.

He sipped the brandy and looked mysteriously at his neighbour.

“There’s a girl living up thereaways. I don’t know her name, but she wants this dog of mine. She saw him in Portaway the other day, and was mad to buy him. It seems that he’s like a wee beast she had herself that died. She offered me four pounds for him, but I wasn’t for selling… That was her ringing up just now. She’s a determined besom… I wonder who she can be. Craw is believed to be a bachelor, but maybe he has had a wife all the time on the sly.”

As Jaikie spoke he decanted the brandy on the back of the sleeping Woolworth. This time he was not so successful. Some of the liqueur got into the little dog’s ear, who awoke and violently scratched the place with a paw.

“That beast’s got fleas,” said Jaikie with a tipsy solemnity.

“What you say about Castle Gay is very strange,” said Allins. “Why should a great man, a publicist of European reputation, live in such retirement? He can have nothing to conceal.”

Jaikie assumed an air of awful secrecy.

“I’m not so sure. I’m not—so sure—about that.” He thrust his face closer to the other’s. “The man is not doing it because he likes it. There must be a reason… I’m going to find out what that reason is… I’ve maybe found it.”

He spoke thickly, but coherently enough. He did not want Allins to think that he was drunk—only excited and voluble.

“Have another drink?”

“Don’t mind if I do. Another b-brandy. It must be the last, all the same, or I’ll never get out of this hotel… What was I saying? Oh, ay! About Craw. Well, isn’t it ridiculous that he should behave like an old ostrich? Ay, an ostrich. He locks his lodge gates and lets nobody inside his house, but half the pop’lation of the Canonry might get in by the park… What’s Friday? I mean the day after the morn. It’s the polling day. The folk up there will all be down at Portaway voting, and they’ll make a day of it—ay, and a night of it… Man, it would be a grand joke to explore Castle Gay that night. Ye could hold up Craw in his lair—no harm meant, if ye understand, but just to frighten him, and see how he likes publicity. It’s what he’s made his millions by, but he’s queer and feared of a dose of it himself.”

“Why don’t you try?” said Allins.

“Because I must think of my job. There might be a regrettable incident, ye see, and I’m not wanting to be fired. Not yet… Besides… “

“Yes?”

“Besides, that kind of ploy wouldn’t get me much forward. I want to find out what Craw’s feared of, for he’s damned feared of something. And the key to it is not in Castle Gay.”

Allins was listening intently, and did not notice the small moan which came from the sleeping Woolworth as something cold splashed in the vicinity of his tail.

“Where?” he asked.

Jaikie leaned towards him and spoke in a thick whisper.

“Did you ever hear of a place called Knockraw?”

“No,” said Allins.

“Well, it’s next door to Castle Gay. And there’s some funny folk there. Foreigners… I’ve nothing against foreigners. Ye’re maybe one yourself. Ye speak a wee thing like it… But the Knockraw foreigners are a special kind, and they’ve got some hold on Craw. I don’t yet know what it is, but I’ll find out. Never fear, I’ll find out. I’ve been hanging about Knockraw these last days, and if I liked I could tell ye some queer tales.”

Jaikie suddenly raised his eyes to the clock on the wall and gave a violent start.

“Govey Dick! It’s close on four! Here! I must go. I can’t sit havering any longer, for I’ve some stuff to get off with the post… I’m much obliged to ye. It’s been very enjoyable. Ye’ll keep your mouth shut about what I’ve told ye, for I’m not wanting to get into Craw’s black books.”

He rose slowly to his feet and steadied himself by the table. Allins rose also and held out his hand.

“This has been a very pleasant meeting, Mr Galt,” he said. He had got the name from the head-porter’s message. “I wonder if I could persuade you to repeat it quite soon. This very evening, in fact. I am staying with some friends at the Hydropathic. Could you drop in for a light supper about ten o’clock? We are strangers in Scotland, and should like to hear more from you about local politics—and journalism—and Mr Craw.”

“I don’t mind if I do. But the Hydropathic’s black teetotal.”

Allins smiled. “We have means of getting over that difficulty. Ten o’clock sharp. Will you ask for Mr Louvain? That will be splendid. Au revoir.”

Jaikie made his way delicately through the lounge as if he were carrying egg-shell china, followed by Woolworth, who paused occasionally to shake himself and who smelt strongly of spirits.

Jaikie dined at the Green Tree, but first he wrote and despatched a letter to Dougal by the country post. He had still no word of the missing Craw. The letter said little, for he did not believe in committing himself on paper, but it asked that Dougal and Barbon and Dickson McCunn should be at the Mains on the following afternoon about three o’clock, and that the Mains party should also muster in full strength. “We must consult,” Jaikie wrote, “for I’m anxious about Friday.”

After dinner he put in an hour at a Unionist meeting, which was poorly attended, but which convinced him that the candidate of that party would win, since—so he argued—the non-political voters who did not go to meetings and made up the bulk of the electorate were probably on his side. Then he went for a walk along the Callowa banks. For the first time in this enterprise he was feeling a little nervous. He was about to meet a type of man of whom he knew nothing, and so much hung on the meeting. At five minutes to ten he turned up the hill towards the Hydropathic. He asked Grierson, the head-porter, for Mr Louvain. “I’ll send up and see if they’re expecting ye,” was the answer. “They’re queer folk, foreigners, and I daurna take ony liberties.” The message came down that Mr Louvain was awaiting Mr Galt, and Jaikie ascended to the second floor and was shown into a large sitting-room.

A table was laid with a cold supper, and on another stood a little grove of champagne bottles. There were seven men in the room, and they were talking volubly in a foreign tongue when Jaikie entered. All wore dinner jackets, so that Jaikie’s shabbiness was accentuated. Allins came forward with outstretched hand. “This is very good of you, Mr Galt. Let me present you to my friends.”

Names were named, at each of which Jaikie bobbed his head and said, “Pleased to meet ye,” but they were not the names which Casimir had spoken at Knockraw. Still he could identify them, for the description of the head-porter had been accurate. There was Dedekind, and Ricci, who looked like a groom, and Calaman, and the Jew Rosenbaum, and the nameless nondescript; at the back there was the smiling and formidable face of Mastrovin.

This last spoke. “I have seen Mr Galt before—at a Socialist meeting in this town. He is, I think, a friend of my friend Antrobus.”

“Red Davie,” said Jaikie. “Ay, I know him a little. Is he still in Portaway?”

“Unfortunately he had to leave this morning. He had a conference to attend in Holland.”

Jaikie was relieved to hear it. Red Davie knew things about him— Cambridge and such like—which were inconsistent with his present character.

They sat down to supper, and Jaikie toyed with a plate of cold chicken and ham. The others drank champagne, but Jaikie chose beer. He wanted a long drink, for his nervousness had made him thirsty.

The interrogation began at once. There was no pretence of a general interest in British journalism or the politics of the Canonry. These men had urgent business on hand, and had little time to waste. But Mastrovin thought it right to offer a short explanation.

“We do not know Mr Craw,” he said, “except by repute. But we are a little anxious about him, for we know something about the present tenants of the place you call Knocknaw—Knockraw—or whatever it is. It is fortunate, perhaps, that we should be travelling in Scotland at this time. I understand that you take an interest in Knockraw and have been making certain inquiries. Will you describe the present occupants of the house?”

“Here! Play fair!” said Jaikie. “I’m a journalist and I’m following my own stunt. I don’t see why I should give away my results to anybody.”

His manner was that of a man who realises that in the past he has been a little drunk and a little too communicative, and who is now resolved to be discreet.

Mastrovin’s heavy brows descended. He said something to Allins and Allins whispered a reply, which Jaikie caught. Now Jaikie was no great linguist, but between school and college he had been sent by Dickson McCunn to Montpellier for six months, and had picked up a fair working knowledge of French. Allins’s whisper was in French, and his words were, “We’ll persuade the little rat to talk. If not, we’ll force him.”

Those words made all the difference to Jaikie’s comfort. He was called a “little rat”—he was being threatened; and threats had always one effect on him. They roused his slow temper, and they caused him to turn very pale, just as six years earlier they would have made him weep. Allins saw his whitening face, and thought it was the consequence of Mastrovin’s glower and the formidable silence of the company. He saw only a rag of a journalist, who had been drunk in the afternoon, and was now feeling the effects. He did not see the little shiver which ran across Jaikie’s face, leaving it grey and pinched, and, even if he had, he would not have known how to interpret it.

“I think you will tell me,” said Mastrovin with a menacing smoothness. “We will make it worth your while. If you don’t, we can make it unpleasant for you.”

Jaikie’s acting was admirable. He let a wild eye rove among the faces and apparently find no comfort. Then he seemed to surrender.

“All right. Keep your hair on… Well, first there’s a man they call the Count—that’s all I could get from the Knockraw beaters.”

He described in accurate detail the appearance and garb of Casimir, of the Professor, of Prince Odalchini. He in no way drew upon his imagination, for he was speaking to men to whom the three had for years been familiar.

“Is there not a fourth?” Mastrovin asked.

Jaikie appeared to consider. “Oh, yes. There’s a young one. He came the night before last, and was out shooting yesterday.” He described elaborately the appearance of Prince John. “He wears a white mackintosh,” he added.

Mastrovin nodded.

“Now, will you tell us why you think these people have some hold on Mr Craw?”

Jaikie appeared to hesitate. “Well—ye see—I don’t just quite like. Ye see, Craw’s my employer… If he heard I had been mooching round his house and spying—well, I’d be in the soup, wouldn’t I?”

The alcoholic bravado of the afternoon had evaporated. Jaikie was now the treacherous journalist, nervous about his job.

“You are afraid of offending Mr Craw,” said Mastrovin. “Mr Galt, I assure you that you have much more reason to be afraid of offending us… Also we will make it worth your while.”

Threats again. Jaikie’s face grew a shade paler, and his heart began to thump. He appeared to consider anew.

“Well, I’ll tell ye… Craw never entertains anybody. His servants tell me that he never has any guests from the neighbourhood inside the door. But the people at Knockraw dined at Castle Gay last Saturday night, and the Castle Gay party dined at Knockraw on Monday night. That looks queer to begin with.”

The others exchanged glances. They apparently had had news of these incidents, and Jaikie confirmed it. Their previous knowledge also established Jaikie’s accuracy.

“Anything more?”

“Plenty. The people at Knockraw have brought their own servants with them. Everybody inside the house is a foreigner. That looks as if they had something they wanted to keep quiet… It would have been far cheaper to get servants in the Canonry, like other tenants.”

Again Mastrovin nodded.

“Anything more?”

“This,” said Jaikie, allowing a smile to wrinkle his pallor. “These Knockraw foreign servants are never away from Castle Gay. They spend half their time crawling about the place. I’ve seen one of them right up at the edge of the terrace. I daresay they’re all poachers at home, for they’re grand hands at keeping cover. Now, what does that mean?” Jaikie seemed to be gaining confidence and warming to his task. “It means that they’re not friends of Craw. They’ve got something coming for him. They’re spying on him … I believe they’re up to no good.”

Mastrovin bent his brows again.

“That is very interesting and very odd. Can you tell us more, Mr Galt?”

“I can’t give ye more facts,” said Jaikie briskly, “but I can give ye my guesses… These Knockraw folk want something out of Craw. And they’re going to get it. And they’re going to get it soon. I’ll tell ye why I think that. The polling’s on Friday, and on that day there’s a holiday at Castle Gay. Craw’s very keen—so they tell me—on his people exercising what he calls their rights as citizens. All the outdoor servants and most of the indoor will be in Portaway, and, if I’m any judge, they’ll no be back till morning. Maybe you don’t know what a Scotch election is like, especially in the Canonry. There’ll be as many drunks in Portaway as on a Saturday night in the Cowcaddens. The Knockraw foreigners will have Craw to themselves, for yon man Barbon, the secretary, is no mortal use.”

Jaikie observed with delight that his views roused every member of the company to the keenest interest, and he could not but believe that he had somehow given his support to a plan which they had already matured. It was with an air of covering his satisfaction that Mastrovin asked, in a voice which he tried to make uninterested:

“Then you think that the Knockraw people will visit Castle Gay on Friday night?”

“They won’t need to visit it, for they’ll be there already,” said Jaikie.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that by this time they’ve all shifted their quarters, bag and baggage, to the Castle.”

“How the devil do you know that?” It was Allins who spoke, and his voice was as sharp as a dog’s bark.

“I found it out from one of the Castle maids. I can tell ye it’s all arranged. The servants have left, but the gentry are shifting over to the Castle… I was at Knockraw this morning, and I saw them packing the guns in their cases. They’re done with shooting for the year, unless,” he added with a grin, “there’s some shooting of a different kind at Castle Gay.”

This news produced an impression as great as the most sensitive narrator could have desired. The seven men talked excitedly among themselves— not, to Jaikie’s regret, in French.

“It looks as if ye didn’t believe me,” he said, with irritation in his tone. “Well, all I can say is, send out somebody to Knockraw the morn’s morning, and if the place is not all shuttered up and not a chimney smoking, ye can call me the worst kind of liar.”

“We accept what you say, Mr Galt,” said Mastrovin, “and we will test it … Now, on another matter. You say that you have explored the park of the Castle very thoroughly, and have seen the Knockraw servants engaged in the same work… We have here a map. As a proof of your good faith, perhaps you will show us the route by which these servants approached the gardens unobserved.”

He produced a sheet of the largest-scale Ordnance Survey.

“Fine I can do that,” said Jaikie. “In my young days I was a Boy Scout. But I’m awful dry with so much talking. I’ll thank you for some more beer.”

His glass was filled, and he drained it at a draught, for he was indeed very thirsty. A space was cleared on the table, and with a pencil he showed how the park could be entered at the Callowa bridge and elsewhere, and what sheltered hollows led right up to the edge of the terrace. He even expounded the plan of the house itself. “There’s the front door… A man could get in at any one of these lower windows. They’re never shuttered… No, the gardeners’ houses are all down by the kitchen garden on the east bank of the Callowa. The chauffeurs and mechanics live on the other side just under the Castle Hill… The keepers? Mackillop is miles away at the Blae Moss; one of the under-keepers lodges in Starr, and one lives at the South Lodge. Craw has a very poor notion of guarding his privacy, for all he’s so keen on it.”

Jaikie yawned heavily—partly in earnest, for he was very weary. He consulted the cheap watch at the end of his recently purchased chain. He was searching for the right note on which to leave, and presently he found it. It was no occasion for ceremony.

“I wasn’t much in my bed last night, and it’s time I was there now— or I’ll be dropping under this table.” He got to his feet and made an embarrassed survey of the company.

“I’m much obliged to you gentlemen for your hospitality. We’ve had a great crack, but for God’s sake keep it to yourselves… I’ve maybe said more than I should have, but it’s your blame for leading me on… I want ye to promise that ye’ll never mention my name. If it came out that I had been spending my time nosing into his private affairs, Craw would fire me like a shot… And he doesn’t pay badly.”

“You need not worry, Mr Galt,” said Mastrovin. “We are not loquacious people. Let me recommend you to be equally silent—especially in your cups.”

“Never fear. I’ll take care of that.” Jaikie gave an imbecile giggle, bobbed his head to the company, and took his leave. Allins did not offer his hand or trouble to open the door. They had had all that they wanted from this bibulous, babbling, little reporter.

At the door of the Hydropathic Jaikie remembered suddenly that they had promised to remunerate him for his confidences. He wished he had collected his fee, for he believed in taking every opportunity of spoiling the Egyptians. But he could do nothing now. He was as one who had escaped from the cave of Polyphemus, and it would be folly to go back for his hat.

At the Green Tree he found a note which had been brought by a boy on a bicycle. “Dear Jaikie,” he read, “set your mind at ease. Mr Craw is here at the Mains, being lectured by Aunt Harriet. You have made him twice the man he was. Love from Alison.”

He read this missive at least eight times. Then he put it carefully into his pocket-book and laid the pocket-book under his pillow. Last night, though that pocket-book contained fifty pounds in Treasury notes, it had lain casually on his dressing-table.