When Mr. Lindsey was in the telegraph office, I bought that morning’s Dundee Advertiser, more to fill up a few spare moments than from any particular desire to get the news, for I was not a great newspaper reader.  I had scarcely opened it when I saw my own name.  And there I stood, in the middle of the bustling railway station, enjoying the sensation of reading my own obituary notice.

“Our Berwick-on-Tweed correspondent, telegraphing late last night, says:—­Considerable anxiety is being felt in the town respecting the fate of Sir Gilbert Carstairs, Bart., of Hathercleugh House, and Mr. Hugh Moneylaws, who are feared to have suffered a disaster at sea.  At noon yesterday, Sir Gilbert, accompanied by Mr. Moneylaws, went out in the former’s yacht (a small vessel of light weight) for a sail which, according to certain fishermen who were about when the yacht left, was to be one of a few hours only.  The yacht had not returned last night, nor has it been seen or heard of since its departure.  Various Berwick fishing craft have been out well off the coast during today, but no tidings of the missing gentlemen have come to hand.  Nothing has been heard of, or from, Sir Gilbert at Hathercleugh up to nine o’clock this evening, and the only ray of hope lies in the fact that Mr. Moneylaws’ mother left the town hurriedly this afternoon—­possibly having received some news of her son.  It is believed here, however, that the light vessel was capsized in a sudden squall, and that both occupants have lost their lives.  Sir Gilbert Carstairs, who was the seventh baronet, had only recently come to the neighbourhood on succeeding to the title and estates.  Mr. Moneylaws, who was senior clerk to Mr. Lindsey, solicitor, of Berwick, was a very promising young man of great ability, and had recently been much before the public eye as a witness in connection with the mysterious murders of John Phillips and Abel Crone, which are still attracting so much attention.”

I shoved the newspaper into Mr. Lindsey’s hand as he came out of the telegraph office.  He read the paragraph in silence, smiling as he read.

“Aye!” he said at last, “you have to leave home to get the home news.  Well—­they’re welcome to be thinking that for the present.  I’ve just wired Murray that I’ll be here till at any rate this evening, and that he’s to telegraph at once if there’s tidings of that yacht or of Carstairs.  Meanwhile, well go and see this Mr. Smeaton.”

Mr. Smeaton was expecting us—­he, too, was reading about me in the Advertiser when we entered, and he made some joking remark about it only being great men that were sometimes treated to death-notices before they were dead.  And then he turned to Mr. Lindsey, who I noticed had been taking close stock of him.

“I’ve been thinking out things since Mr. Moneylaws was in here last night,” he remarked.  “Bringing my mind to bear, do you see, on certain points that I hadn’t thought of before.  And maybe there’s something more than appears at first sight in yon man John Phillips having my name and address on him.”