“I think, Gordon, that one or two of those fellows with Leithcourt are rank outsiders,” he said confidentially to me one night after we had had a hard day’s shooting, and were playing a hundred up at billiards before retiring.  “One man, who arrived yesterday, I know too well.  He was struck off the list at Boodle’s three years ago for card-sharping—­that thin-faced, fair-mustached man named Cadby.  I suppose Leithcourt doesn’t know it, or he wouldn’t have him up here among respectable folk.”  And my uncle, chewing the end of his cigar, sniffed angrily, seeming half inclined to give his friend a gentle hint that the name Cadby was placed beyond the pale of good society.

“Better not say anything about it,” I urged.  “It’s Leithcourt’s own affair, uncle—­not ours.”

“Yes, but if a man sets up a position in the country he mustn’t be allowed to ask us to meet such fellows.  It’s coming it a little too thick, Gordon.  We men can stand the women of the party, but the men—­well, I tell you candidly, I shan’t accept his invites to shoot again.”

“No, no, uncle,” I protested.  “Probably it’s owing to ignorance.  You’ll be able, a little later on, to give him valuable tips.  He’s a good fellow, and only wants experience in Scotland to get along all right.”

“Yes.  But I don’t like it, my boy, I don’t like it!  It isn’t playing a fair game,” declared the rigid old gentleman, coloring resentfully.  “I’m not going to return the invitation and ask that sharper, Cadby, to my house—­and I tell you that plainly.”

Next day I shot with the Carmichaels of Crossburn, and about four o’clock, after a good day, took leave of the party in the Black Glen, and started off alone to walk home, a distance of about six miles.  It was already growing dusk, and would be quite dark, I knew, before I reached my uncle’s house.  My most direct way was to follow the river for about two miles and then strike straight across the large dense wood, and afterwards over a wide moor full of treacherous bogs and pitfalls for the unwary.

My gun over my shoulder, I had walked on for about three-quarters of an hour, and had nearly traversed the wood, at that hour so dark that I had considerable difficulty in finding my way, when—­of a sudden—­I fancied I distinguished voices.

I halted.  Yes.  Men were talking in low tones of confidence, and in that calm stillness of evening they appeared nearer to me than they actually were.

I listened, trying to distinguish the words uttered, but could make out nothing.  They were moving slowly together, in close vicinity to myself, for their feet stirred the dry leaves, and I could hear the boughs cracking as they forced their way through them.

Of a sudden, while standing there not daring to breathe lest I should betray my presence, a strange sound fell upon my eager ears.

Next moment I realized that I was at that place where Leithcourt so persistently kept his disappointed tryst, having approached it from within the wood.