Chisholm shook his head, and Andrew Dunlop looked searchingly at me.

“We know nothing more,” he answered.  “You don’t know anything yourself, my lad?” he went on, staring at me still harder.

“I, Mr. Dunlop!” I exclaimed.  “What do you think, now, asking me a question like yon!  What should I know?”

“How should I know that?” said he.  “You dragged your mother and my lass all the way to Dundee for nothing—­so far as I could learn; and—­”

“He’d good reason,” interrupted Mr. Lindsey.  “He did quite right.  Now what is this about your daughter, Mr. Dunlop?  Just let’s have the plain tale of it, and then we’ll know where we are.”

I had already seen that Andrew Dunlop was not over well pleased with me—­and now I saw why.  He was a terrible hand at economy, saving every penny he could lay hands on, and as nothing particular seemed to have come of it, and—­so far as he could see—­there had been no great reason for it, he was sore at my sending for his daughter to Dundee, and all the sorer because—­though I, of course, was utterly innocent of it—­Maisie had gone off on that journey without as much as a by-your-leave to him.  And he was not over ready or over civil to Mr. Lindsey.

“Aye, well!” said he.  “There’s strange doings afoot, and it’s not my will that my lass should be at all mixed up in them, Mr. Lindsey!  All this running up and down, hither and thither, on business that doesn’t concern—­”

Mr. Lindsey had the shortest of tempers on occasion, and I saw that he was already impatient.  He suddenly turned away with a growl and collared Chisholm.

“You’re a fool, Dunlop,” he exclaimed over his shoulder; “it’s your tongue that wants to go running!  Now then, sergeant!—­what is all this about Miss Dunlop?  Come on!”

My future father-in-law drew off in high displeasure, but Chisholm hurriedly explained matters.

“He’s in a huffy state, Mr. Lindsey,” he said, nodding at Andrew’s retreating figure.  “Until you came in, he was under the firm belief that you and Mr. Hugh had got the young lady away again on some of this mystery business—­he wouldn’t have it any other way.  And truth to tell, I was wondering if you had, myself!  But since you haven’t, it’s here—­and I hope nothing’s befallen the poor young thing, for—­”

“For God’s sake, man, get it out!” said I.  “We’ve had preface enough—­come to your tale!”

“I’m only explaining to you, Mr. Hugh,” he answered, calmly.  “And I understand your impatience.  It’s like this, d’ye see?—­Andrew Dunlop yonder has a sister that’s married to a man, a sheep-farmer, whose place is near Coldsmouth Hill, between Mindrum and Kirk Yetholm—­”

“I know!” I said.  “You mean Mrs. Heselton.  Well, man?”

“Mrs. Heselton, of course,” said he.  “You’re right there.  And last night—­about seven or so in the evening—­a telegram came to the Dunlops saying Mrs. Heselton was taken very ill, and would Miss Dunlop go over?  And away she went there and then, on her bicycle, and alone—­and she never reached the place!”