At the end of the big, old-fashioned stable-yard, with grey stone outbuildings ranged down either side, and the ancient mounting-block a conspicuous object, were ranged the modern iron kennels full of pointers and spaniels.  In that big, old, paved quadrangle, the cobbles of which were nowadays stained by the oil of noisy motor-cars, many a Graham of Glencardine had mounted to ride into Stirling or Edinburgh, or to drive in his coach to far-off London.  The stables were now empty, but the garage adjoining, whence came the odour of petrol, contained the two Glencardine cars, besides three others belonging to members of that merry, irresponsible house-party.

The inspection of the pointers was a mere excuse on her ladyship’s part to be alone with Flockart.

She wished to speak with him, and with that object suggested that they should take the by-road which, crossing one of the main roads through the estate, led through a leafy wood away to a railway level-crossing half a mile off.  The road was unfrequented, and they were not likely to meet any of the guests, for some were away fishing, others had motored into Stirling, and at least three had walked down into Auchterarder to take a telegram for their blind host.

“Well, my dear Jimmy,” asked the well-preserved, fair-haired woman in short brown skirt and fresh white cotton blouse and sun-hat, “what have you discovered?”

“Very little,” replied the easy-going man, who wore a suit of rough heather-tweed and a round cloth fishing-hat.  “My information is unfortunately very meagre.  You have watched carefully.  Well, what have you found out?”

“That she’s just as much in love with him as before—­the little fool!”

“And I suppose he’s just as devoted to her as ever—­eh?”

“Of course.  Since you’ve been away these last few days he’s been over here from Connachan, on one pretext or another, every day.  Of course I’ve been compelled to ask him to lunch, for I can’t afford to quarrel with his people, although I hate the whole lot of them.  His mother gives herself such airs, and his father is the most terrible old bore in the whole country.”

“But the match would be an advantageous one—­wouldn’t it?” suggested the man strolling at her side, and he stopped to light a cigarette which he took from a golden case.

“Advantageous!  Of course it would!  But we can’t afford to allow it, my dear Jimmy.  Think what such an alliance would mean to us!”

“To you, you mean.”

“To you also.  An ugly revelation might result, remember.  Therefore it must not be allowed.  While Walter was abroad all was pretty plain sailing.  Lots of the letters she wrote him I secured from the post-box, read them, and afterwards burned them.  But now he’s back there is a distinct peril.  He’s a cute young fellow, remember.”

Flockart smiled.  “We must discover a means by which to part them,” he said slowly but decisively.  “I quite agree with you that to allow the matter to go any further would be to court disaster.  We have a good many enemies, you and I, Winnie—­many who would only be too pleased and eager to rake up that unfortunate episode.  And I, for one, have no desire to figure in a criminal dock.”