“Non, monsieur,” cries Alan, mocking him.  “Is that how they learn you French on the Seahorse? Ye muckle, gutsey hash, here’s a Scots boot to your English hurdies!”

And bounding on him before he could escape, he dealt the man a kick that laid him on his nose.  Then he stood, with a savage smile, and watched him scramble to his feet and scamper off into the sand hills.

“But it’s high time I was clear of these empty bents!” said Alan; and continued his way at top speed and we still following, to the back door of Bazin’s inn.

It chanced that as we entered by the one door we came face to face with James More entering by the other.

“Here!” said I to Catriona, “quick! upstairs with you and make your packets; this is no fit scene for you.”

In the meanwhile James and Alan had met in the midst of the long room.  She passed them close by to reach the stairs; and after she was some way up I saw her turn and glance at them again, though without pausing.  Indeed, they were worth looking at.  Alan wore as they met one of his best appearances of courtesy and friendliness, yet with something eminently warlike, so that James smelled danger off the man, as folk smell fire in a house, and stood prepared for accidents.

Time pressed.  Alan’s situation in that solitary place, and his enemies about him, might have daunted Caesar.  It made no change in him; and it was in his old spirit of mockery and daffing that he began the interview.

“A braw good day to ye again, Mr. Drummond,” said he.  “What’ll yon business of yours be just about?”

“Why, the thing being private, and rather of a long story,” says James, “I think it will keep very well till we have eaten.”

“I’m none so sure of that,” said Alan.  “It sticks in my mind it’s either now or never; for the fact is me and Mr. Balfour here have gotten a line, and we’re thinking of the road.”

I saw a little surprise in James’s eye; but he held himself stoutly.

“I have but the one word to say to cure you of that,” said he, “and that is the name of my business.”

“Say it then,” says Alan.  “Hout! wha minds for Davie?”

“It is a matter that would make us both rich men,” said James.

“Do ye tell me that?” cries Alan.

“I do, sir,” said James.  “The plain fact is that it is Cluny’s Treasure.”

“No!” cried Alan.  “Have ye got word of it?”

“I ken the place, Mr. Stewart, and can take you there,” said James.

“This crowns all!” says Alan.  “Well, and I’m glad I came to Dunkirk.  And so this was your business, was it?  Halvers, I’m thinking?”

“That is the business, sir,” says James.

“Well, well,” says Alan; and then in the same tone of childlike interest, “It has naething to do with the Seahorse, then?” he asked.

“With what?” says James.

“Or the lad that I have just kicked the bottom of behind yon windmill?” pursued Alan.  “Hut, man! have done with your lees!  I have Palliser’s letter here in my pouch.  You’re by with it, James More.  You can never show your face again with dacent folk.”