The two guards, being Scotch, responded to inquiries with extreme caution.  All that they would answer for was that the trunks were not in the train.  Then the train was drawn out of the station by a toy-engine, and the express engine followed it with grave dignity, and Helen and Jimmy were left staring at the empty rails.

“Something must be done,” said Helen, crossly.

“Ay!” Jimmy agreed.  “It’s long past my tea-time.  We must find out if there’s anything to eat i’ Scotland.”

But Helen insisted on visiting the stationmaster.  Now, the stationmaster at St. Enoch’s is one of the most important personages north of the Tweed, and not easily to be seen.  However, Helen saw him.  He pointed out that the train came from London in two portions, which were divided in Scotland, one going to Edinburgh, and his suggestion was that conceivably the luggage had been put into the Edinburgh van in mistake for the Glasgow van.  Such errors did occur sometimes, he said, implying that the North Western was an English railway, and that surprising things happened in England.  He said, also, that Helen might telephone to Edinburgh and inquire.

She endeavoured to act on this counsel, but came out of the telephone cabin saying that she could not get into communication with Edinburgh.

“Better go over to Edinburgh and see for yourself,” said Jimmy, tranquilly.

“Yes, and what about my steamer?” Helen turned on him.

“Scotland canna’ be so big as all that,” said Jimmy.  “Not according to th’ maps.  Us could run over to Edinburgh to-night, and get back to Glasgow early to-morrow.”

She consented.

Just as he was taking two second returns to Edinburgh (they had snatched railway eggs and railway tea while waiting for a fast train) he stopped and said: 

“Unless ye prefer to sail without your trunks, and I could send ’em on by th’ next steamer?”

“Uncle,” she protested, “I do wish you wouldn’t be so silly.  The idea of me sailing without my trunks!  Why don’t you ask me to sail without my head?”

“All right—­all right!” he responded.  “But don’t snap mine off.  Two second returns to Edinburgh, young man, and I’ll thank ye to look slippy over it.”

In the Edinburgh train he could scarcely refrain from laughing.  And Helen, too, seemed more in a humour to accept the disappearance of five invaluable trunks, full of preciosities, as a facetious sally on the part of destiny.

He drew out a note-book which he always carried, and did mathematical calculations.

“That makes twenty-seven pounds eighteen and ninepence as ye owe me,” he remarked.

“What?  For railway tickets?”

“Railway tickets, tips, and that twenty-five pounds I lent ye.  I’m making ye a present o’ my fares, and dinner, and tea and so forth.”

“Twenty-five pounds that you lent me!” she murmured.

“Yes,” he said.  “Tuesday morning, while I was at my cashbox.”