When Whitney and d.i.c.k had gone, Mackellar rang a bell that stood on the table. "Ye'll join me with a gla.s.s o' wine," he said to Andrew.

The wine was brought, and though Andrew did not hear what Mackellar said to the waitress, he imagined that they would not be disturbed.

"I would say d.i.c.k's new friend is to be trusted," Mackellar began when they were alone.

"Of course," said Andrew. "If I grasp what you mean, he'll do the boy no harm; but he's really a friend of mine."

"That should put the thing beyond all doubt," Mackellar replied, and filled the gla.s.ses.

Andrew waited. Mackellar was generally deliberate, but people valued his opinion. He had been a lawyer, and in the small Scottish towns lawyers are entrusted with their clients' investments, and, in consequence, are often appointed agents by the banks.

"I think ye see your duty to your cousin," Mackellar resumed.

"Yes," said Andrew simply. "I wish I saw how it ought to be carried out. I'm at a loss there."

Mackellar's nod indicated sympathetic understanding.

"Ye're young and want to see the whole road ahead. It's enough that ye walk cannily, doing what seems needful as ye find it. For a' that, I'm glad to hear ye feel that ye are responsible. It's some help to me."

"Then you take a personal interest in him?" Andrew hesitated and added: "I mean, if you understand, apart from your being a trustee."

Mackellar smiled.

"I understand. We're dour folk and not given to sentiment, but I think we can be trusted to pay our debts, and d.i.c.k's father was a good friend o' mine. It was the Appleyard business first put me on my feet.

Then your cousin is a likable lad; though he's given me trouble. But we'll not dwell on that--there are other things to talk about."

"Have you paid off his debts?"

"Some. There are one or two for which the holders would not give up his notes."

"Why?"

"They carry high interest and fall due at a future date. Then I have reasons for thinking the holders are agents for a princ.i.p.al in the background."

"The fellow must take a risk, because d.i.c.k's not of age. Hasn't the law something to say about a minor's debts?"

"I'm not sure the risk is as big as it looks. Would ye expect a Johnstone o' Appleyard to repudiate his obligations?"

"No," said Andrew. "When you come to think of it, such a thing's impossible."

"Weel, there's another point; your cousin did not tell us all he owed."

Andrew frowned.

"I must admit that I was afraid d.i.c.k hadn't been quite straight with us. What's to be done? Can we take him away from Staffer?"

"Why would ye wish that?" Mackellar asked sharply.

"It's not easy to explain, and my position's difficult. d.i.c.k thinks highly of the fellow, and I can't see anything that's openly wrong with him. Still, one feels he hasn't a good influence on d.i.c.k."

"Just that," Mackellar dryly returned. "d.i.c.k's mother put the lad into Staffer's hands and I had no power to stop her. If Staffer abused his position, it would give me a handle, but I cannot find fault with anything he does. A careful, well-thought-of man, and exact to a penny in the estate accounts."

"And yet you don't trust him. If you did, you'd tell him about those debts instead of me."

"Weel," chuckled Mackellar, "there's maybe something in that."

Andrew knitted his brows.

"I feel that there's something going on, so to speak, behind the scenes, but I can't tell what it is. Do you know that d.i.c.k's heart is weak, and dissipation and excitement are bad for him?"

"I heard something about it." Mackellar gave Andrew a steady, meaning look. "Your cousin will not be in danger until he's twenty-one."

"What danger do you mean?" Andrew asked uneasily.

"I cannot tell--ye have heard that loose living is bad for him. He'll be free from restraint when he comes of age."

Andrew suspected that this was not all that Mackellar meant.

"Suppose his creditors insisted on his insuring his life?" he asked.

"There's a difficulty--insurance companies are not as a rule anxious to take a man with a weak heart. For a' that--" Mackellar broke off and sipped his wine in silence before he resumed: "I'll try to follow up the matter of the notes and ye'll keep an eye on d.i.c.k. If ye remark anything suspicious, ye will let me know. Now, I think there's no more to be said."

Andrew agreed, and lighted his pipe. He was troubled by vague suspicions that Mackellar seemed to share. On the surface, the suspicions looked somewhat ridiculous; but Andrew was not satisfied, and Mackellar had admitted the need for vigilance. Well, he must keep the best watch he could.

Whitney came in while they sat there.

"d.i.c.k's not back?" he said. "I thought I'd find him here."

"Ye might try the bar," Mackellar replied, with a twinkle. "Mr.

Johnstone's not anxious to talk to me. How did ye lose him?"

"I rather think he lost me," Whitney laughed; "but he knows we've ordered tea and he'll be along soon."

When the trap they had hired was waiting, d.i.c.k came in. His face was flushed, and his eyes gleamed with amus.e.m.e.nt as he glanced at Mackellar.

"I shan't have to leave without a word or two, after all."

"Well," said Mackellar, "ye cut it very fine. Where have ye been?"

"In the other hotel. I found a number of people there. They'd been to the Creetown sheep sales and were in a convivial mood. In fact, they wouldn't let me go."

"It's no doubt a matter o' taste, but one would not expect to find a Johnstone o' Applegate colloging with drovers in a second-cla.s.s bar,"

Mackellar observed.

d.i.c.k laughed.

"I don't know that it makes much difference, but I was playing cards,"

he said.