’Ye canna go back by Mallaig.  I don’t just understand why, but they’re lookin’ for you down that line.  It’s a vexatious business when your friends, meanin’ the polis, are doing their best to upset your plans and you no able to enlighten them.  I could send word to the Chief Constable and get ye through to London without a stop like a load of fish from Aiberdeen, but that would be spoilin’ the fine character ye’ve been at such pains to construct.  Na, na!  Ye maun take the risk and travel by Muirtown without ony creedentials.’

‘It can’t be a very big risk,’ I interpolated.

’I’m no so sure.  Gresson’s left the Tobermory.  He went by here yesterday, on the Mallaig boat, and there was a wee blackavised man with him that got out at the Kyle.  He’s there still, stoppin’ at the hotel.  They ca’ him Linklater and he travels in whisky.  I don’t like the looks of him.’

‘But Gresson does not suspect me?’

’Maybe no.  But ye wouldna like him to see ye hereaways.  Yon gentry don’t leave muckle to chance.  Be very certain that every man in Gresson’s lot kens all about ye, and has your description down to the mole on your chin.’

‘Then they’ve got it wrong,’ I replied.

‘I was speakin’ feeguratively,’ said Amos.  ‘I was considerin’ your case the feck of yesterday, and I’ve brought the best I could do for ye in the gig.  I wish ye were more respectable clad, but a good topcoat will hide defeecencies.’

From behind the gig’s seat he pulled out an ancient Gladstone bag and revealed its contents.  There was a bowler of a vulgar and antiquated style; there was a ready-made overcoat of some dark cloth, of the kind that a clerk wears on the road to the office; there was a pair of detachable celluloid cuffs, and there was a linen collar and dickie.  Also there was a small handcase, such as bagmen carry on their rounds.

‘That’s your luggage,’ said Amos with pride.  ’That wee bag’s full of samples.  Ye’ll mind I took the precaution of measurin’ ye in Glasgow, so the things’ll fit.  Ye’ve got a new name, Mr Brand, and I’ve taken a room for ye in the hotel on the strength of it.  Ye’re Archibald McCaskie, and ye’re travellin’ for the firm o’ Todd, Sons & Brothers, of Edinburgh.  Ye ken the folk?  They publish wee releegious books, that ye’ve bin trying to sell for Sabbath-school prizes to the Free Kirk ministers in Skye.’

The notion amused Amos, and he relapsed into the sombre chuckle which with him did duty for a laugh.

I put my hat and waterproof in the bag and donned the bowler and the top-coat.  They fitted fairly well.  Likewise the cuffs and collar, though here I struck a snag, for I had lost my scarf somewhere in the Coolin, and Amos, pelican-like, had to surrender the rusty black tie which adorned his own person.  It was a queer rig, and I felt like nothing on earth in it, but Amos was satisfied.