I frowned and puzzled a little.  ’I did see a fellow about three miles back on the hillside.  There’s a public-house just where the burn comes in, and I think he was making for it.  Maybe that was your man.  This wire says “South African”; and now I remember the fellow had the look of a colonial.’

The policeman sighed.  ’No doubt it will be the man.  Perhaps he will haf a pistol and will shoot.’

‘Not him,’ I laughed.  ’He looked a mangy sort of chap, and he’ll be scared out of his senses at the sight of you.  But take my advice and get somebody with you before you tackle him.  You’re always the better of a witness.’

‘That is so,’ he said, brightening.  ’Ach, these are the bad times! in old days there wass nothing to do but watch the doors at the flower-shows and keep the yachts from poaching the sea-trout.  But now it is spies, spies, and “Donald, get out of your bed, and go off twenty mile to find a German.”  I wass wishing the war wass by, and the Germans all dead.’

‘Hear, hear!’ I cried, and on the strength of it gave him another dram.

I accompanied him to the road, and saw him mount his bicycle and zig-zag like a snipe down the hill towards Achranich.  Then I set off briskly northward.  It was clear that the faster I moved the better.

As I went I paid disgusted tribute to the efficiency of the Scottish police.  I wondered how on earth they had marked me down.  Perhaps it was the Glasgow meeting, or perhaps my association with Ivery at Biggleswick.  Anyhow there was somebody somewhere mighty quick at compiling a dossier.  Unless I wanted to be bundled back to Oban I must make good speed to the Arisaig coast.

Presently the road fell to a gleaming sea-loch which lay like the blue blade of a sword among the purple of the hills.  At the head there was a tiny clachan, nestled among birches and rowans, where a tawny burn wound to the sea.  When I entered the place it was about four o’clock in the afternoon, and peace lay on it like a garment.  In the wide, sunny street there was no sign of life, and no sound except of hens clucking and of bees busy among the roses.  There was a little grey box of a kirk, and close to the bridge a thatched cottage which bore the sign of a post and telegraph office.

For the past hour I had been considering that I had better prepare for mishaps.  If the police of these parts had been warned they might prove too much for me, and Gresson would be allowed to make his journey unmatched.  The only thing to do was to send a wire to Amos and leave the matter in his hands.  Whether that was possible or not depended upon this remote postal authority.

I entered the little shop, and passed from bright sunshine to a twilight smelling of paraffin and black-striped peppermint balls.  An old woman with a mutch sat in an arm-chair behind the counter.  She looked up at me over her spectacles and smiled, and I took to her on the instant.  She had the kind of old wise face that God loves.