"It was really difficult to interfere, but I did try a tactful hint,"

he said with an indulgent air. "Perhaps the way you regard the thing is natural and deserves some sympathy, but I must say I feel a little hurt. It looks as if you thought I had some object in encouraging d.i.c.k to be extravagant and rash."

"No; I can't see what you would gain," Elsie replied thoughtfully.

"Well, that's some relief; but what do you want now? A promise that, at the risk of offending him, I'll be very firm in future?"

Elsie was silent for a moment and then looked at him calmly.

"I don't think I will ask you for this," she said.

She rose, and Williamson turned away, feeling somewhat annoyed with himself. Elsie had not asked for his promise, because she thought it would not be kept. He had failed to convince her, and her opposition must be reckoned with. Then, what she had said about excitement being bad for d.i.c.k had roused his keen curiosity. The girl was inexperienced and had used no artifice, but he did not think she could have played her part better. Staffer apparently believed that she and Andrew Johnstone were not important; but Williamson thought him mistaken.

While he crossed the lawn Madge Whitney watched him with a smile.

"That man," she remarked to Andrew, "has just got a set down, but I imagine Elsie has been wasting her time."

"It looks as if you knew what they had been talking about," Andrew replied.

Madge's eyes twinkled.

"Why, of course I do! You must remember that I've been here a week, noticing things. Elsie doesn't like the man, and the only reason she could have for talking to him confidentially is that she wanted to warn him to keep his hands off d.i.c.k. But I don't think he will."

"Ah!" Andrew said sharply. "It's curious that you--"

"Shall I finish what you meant to say? It's curious that although I haven't had much opportunity for seeing what is going on, I should agree with the conclusion you have come to after mature deliberation.

Well, if you're afraid of complimenting me on my cleverness, you can account for it by remembering that I'm an American. Of course, this doesn't make me anything the less of an outsider."

"I didn't mean that you were an outsider."

"Perhaps you didn't. It was your Scottish reserve that made you hate to talk about your family affairs; but Jim, who counts you as his partner, has told me something. Then I don't mind telling you that I like you and admire what you are trying to do. However, we'll keep to the point. Williamson is leading your cousin into extravagance with some object."

"I believe that's true," Andrew agreed quietly. "After all, you were right to some extent, about my reserve; but now if you can help me I'll be very glad. It isn't an easy job I have undertaken."

"Very well. I'll begin by telling you something. The evening Williamson arrived, I was coming down to dinner before the rest--I afterward found my watch was fast. When I got to the gallery at the top of the stairs I stopped; it's rather dark where you come out of the pa.s.sage, you know. d.i.c.k was standing by the fire in the hall and his manner indicated that he was waiting for somebody. As I hesitated, Williamson came out of the opposite pa.s.sage and went downstairs, but his quick glance around showed he wanted to be sure there was n.o.body but d.i.c.k about. I saw d.i.c.k's face, and it was eager. Williamson gave him two or three bits of paper that looked like bank-notes."

"If d.i.c.k had given them to Williamson, I could have understood it better," Andrew interrupted.

"Yes; the explanation would then have been obvious; but what I saw suggests something graver. d.i.c.k went away, looking relieved; but Williamson moved toward the stairs and then turned back, and a few moments afterward Staffer came in. He said, 'So you have seen him!'"

Andrew made an abrupt movement, but said nothing.

"I suppose you see the significance of this?" Madge said.

It was plain to Andrew that Staffer had known, and no doubt approved, of the transaction between Williamson and d.i.c.k.

"Yes; and I feel disturbed about it."

"Well," continued Madge, "I went back quietly and didn't come down for some time; but I watched the three men at dinner. Williamson spoke to d.i.c.k as if he had not seen him since he came, and d.i.c.k said he was sorry he wasn't able to meet him at the station. In fact, they rather overdid it; and Staffer seemed to think so, because he stopped them.

Then, perhaps, because he felt relieved, d.i.c.k--"

"Drank more than usual?" Andrew suggested grimly when she hesitated.

"I noticed that. Well, since you have seen so much, I'm glad to have you on my side, particularly if you can tell me what I ought to do.

I'll admit that I don't know."

"I think you should watch and do what seems plainly needful, but nothing more. Don't try to make clever plans, but take Mackellar into your confidence."

"You haven't met him," Andrew said in surprise.

"Jim has, and I know what he thinks of him."

Andrew took her advice and soon afterward left Appleyard in the side-car. Whitney let the high-powered bicycle go when they turned into the main western road, which runs, straight and level, along the Solway, and they reached Dumfries in an hour. Mackellar had not left his office and in five minutes Andrew had made the situation plain.

Mackellar pondered it silently for a time, and then looked up.

"Weel," he said, "it gets interesting and I must set to work. I'll let ye know when I have anything to report."

Andrew, knowing his man, was satisfied with this. He and Whitney drove home at full speed, and arrived before their absence had been noticed.

Williamson left the next morning, and Madge Whitney a few days afterward, and nothing of importance happened during the following week; but Mackellar had, in the meantime, been carrying out a plan that was to have some influence upon Williamson's affairs.

CHAPTER XV

A BARGAIN

There was no Sunday delivery of letters, and one Monday morning Williamson sat rather anxiously watching the road outside a small country house beside the Tweed. One of the tall gateposts at the end of the drive had sunk to a slant and the gravel had not been rolled or raked for some time. The borders round the lawn hinted at economy in bedding out and gardener's hire, and the old house had a dilapidated look. These things were significant and explained why Williamson had been received there as a paying guest, with the privilege of some rough shooting and salmon-fishing.

He could have found cheaper quarters, but the place suited him. For one thing, his residence there gave him a certain standing in the country, and his host, a decayed Scottish gentleman, was getting old and left him alone. He could go and come as he liked without exciting remark, and the people he met were well bred and not imaginative.

Since he had been received by his host, they took it for granted that he was a man one could be friendly with.

The postman at last dismounted from his bicycle at the gate. It is customary in that neighborhood to meet the post, but Williamson sat still, as if he did not expect any letters. The man gave him three before he went on to the house, and Williamson put them down and carelessly lighted his pipe. He had learned to exercise caution in such details, though he felt disturbed as he recognized the writing.

The first curtly reminded him that payment for the hire of a motor car was two months overdue. The second enclosed a statement of a fashionable tailor's account, which included an expensive fur coat; but there was no difference in the hand. Williamson knew it well; indeed, he had two or three similar demands in his pocket. Each ended with an intimation that unless payment were made within a specified time, proceedings would be taken to enforce it.

Williamson put down the notes and vacantly looked about. Not far away, the Tweed, sparkling in the sunshine, ran through a wooded hollow where beeches gleamed ruddy-brown among somber firs. Two men with guns upon their shoulders were crossing the steep stubble that glittered with melting h.o.a.r frost on the breast of a neighboring hill, and a keeper with a couple of setters stood at the gate. Williamson was to have gone shooting with his host; but now he must excuse himself, for he had something of importance to think about.

His expenses were heavy, for it was important that he should pa.s.s for a sporting man of means, and he was a good shot and skilful with the salmon rod. As a rule, he had money enough for his needs, but his supplies had been irregular since the war began, and as he had luxurious tastes his debts had mounted up. Of late, his creditors had grown impatient, but it was curious they should all have asked the same lawyer to enforce their claims. This could not have happened by coincidence. It looked as if somebody, who must have taken a good deal of trouble to investigate his affairs, meant to put some pressure on him. This was alarming, for several reasons; and as he could not pay his debts in the time allowed, he determined to call upon the lawyer and see what he could find out.

There was, however, another matter that demanded attention, and as he took up a letter with the Newcastle postmark the Tweed drew his eyes again. It reminded him of a wider river with older a.s.sociations; a river where terraced vineyards rose steeply from the waterside, instead of the rounded Scottish hills, and barges slowly floating past ancient towns. His expression changed and grew resolute as he thought of it.

Opening the envelope he found, as he expected, a short note folded round a letter. The note said that he would, no doubt, like to hear how Jack was getting on in Holland, and ended with a few references to mutual acquaintances. The letter was of some length, and narrated in gossiping style its writer's business journey to several Dutch towns.

Williamson, however, knew that there was more in it than met the eye, and he went to excuse himself from joining the shooting party. After this, he spent some time studying the letter in his room, and when he had burned it he went at once to the station.

Leaving the train at an old country town, he called at the lawyer's office and was received by a suave elderly gentleman.

"It was my unpleasant duty to send you these notices," the lawyer said with an apologetic air. "I appreciate your prompt response, and expect the little matter will now be put right. You must admit that the creditors have exercised some patience."

"But don't mean to do so any longer, eh? That is really what I came to see about."