The man looked puzzled.  ’How the devil am I to be satisfied about that?  Have you any papers to prove it?’

’Why, no.  I don’t carry passports about with me on a walking tour.  But you can wire to the depot, or to my London address.’

He pulled at his yellow moustache.  ’I’m hanged if I know what to do.  I want to get home for dinner.  I tell you what, sir, I’ll take you on with me and put you up for the night.  My boy’s at home, convalescing, and if he says you’re pukka I’ll ask your pardon and give you a dashed good bottle of port.  I’ll trust him and I warn you he’s a keen hand.’

There was nothing to do but consent, and I got in beside him with an uneasy conscience.  Supposing the son knew the real Blaikie!  I asked the name of the boy’s battalion, and was told the 10th Seaforths.  That wasn’t pleasant hearing, for they had been brigaded with us on the Somme.  But Colonel Broadbury—­for he told me his name—­volunteered another piece of news which set my mind at rest.  The boy was not yet twenty, and had only been out seven months.  At Arras he had got a bit of shrapnel in his thigh, which had played the deuce with the sciatic nerve, and he was still on crutches.

We spun over ridges of moorland, always keeping northward, and brought up at a pleasant white-washed house close to the sea.  Colonel Broadbury ushered me into a hall where a small fire of peats was burning, and on a couch beside it lay a slim, pale-faced young man.  He had dropped his policeman’s manner, and behaved like a gentleman.  ‘Ted,’ he said, ’I’ve brought a friend home for the night.  I went out to look for a suspect and found a British officer.  This is Captain Blaikie, of the Scots Fusiliers.’

The boy looked at me pleasantly.  ’I’m very glad to meet you, sir.  You’ll excuse me not getting up, but I’ve got a game leg.’  He was the copy of his father in features, but dark and sallow where the other was blond.  He had just the same narrow head, and stubborn mouth, and honest, quick-tempered eyes.  It is the type that makes dashing regimental officers, and earns V.C.s, and gets done in wholesale.  I was never that kind.  I belonged to the school of the cunning cowards.

In the half-hour before dinner the last wisp of suspicion fled from my host’s mind.  For Ted Broadbury and I were immediately deep in ‘shop’.  I had met most of his senior officers, and I knew all about their doings at Arras, for his brigade had been across the river on my left.  We fought the great fight over again, and yarned about technicalities and slanged the Staff in the way young officers have, the father throwing in questions that showed how mighty proud he was of his son.  I had a bath before dinner, and as he led me to the bathroom he apologized very handsomely for his bad manners.  ’Your coming’s been a godsend for Ted.  He was moping a bit in this place.  And, though I say it that shouldn’t, he’s a dashed good boy.’

I had my promised bottle of port, and after dinner I took on the father at billiards.  Then we settled in the smoking-room, and I laid myself out to entertain the pair.  The result was that they would have me stay a week, but I spoke of the shortness of my leave, and said I must get on to the railway and then back to Fort William for my luggage.