"I guess I'm just the man you're looking for," he said. "Show me."

In less time than it takes to tell the offending cinder was removed, and I was amazed at the delicacy and certainty of his touch. I thanked him profusely, and indeed I was really grateful to him. Naturally enough, we fell into conversation--the easy, broad conversation of two men who have never seen each other before and expect never to see each other again, but are quite willing to be friends in the meantime.

"Terrible news, this," he said presently, pulling a copy of the _Glasgow Herald_ from his pocket. "I suppose you got it at Fort William?"

"No," I said. "I didn't leave the train. I wasn't thinking of newspapers. What is it?"

"A state of war exists between Great Britain and Germany as from twelve o'clock last night."

"Ah!" said I. "It has come, then." And I was surprised that I had forgotten all about the war, which was actually the cause of my presence there. I noticed with some curiosity that Hilderman looked out of the window with a strangely tense air, his lips firmly pressed together, his eyes wide open and staring. He was certainly awake now.

But in a moment he turned to me with a charming smile.

"You know, I'm an American," he said. "But this. .h.i.ts me--hits me hard.

There's a calm and peaceful, friendly hospitality about this island of yours that I like--like a lot. My own country reminds me too much of my own struggles for existence. For nearly forty years I fought for breath in America, and, but that I like now and again to run over and have a look round, you can keep the place as far as I'm concerned.

I've been about here now for a good many years--not just this part, for this is nearly new to me, but about the country--and I feel that this is my quarrel, and I should like to have a hand in it."

"Perhaps America may join in yet," I suggested.

"Not she," he cried, with a laugh. "America! Not on your life. Why, she's afraid of civil war. She don't know which of her own citizens are her friends and which ain't. She's tied hand and foot. She can't even turn round long enough to whip Mexico. Don't you ever expect America to join in anything except family prayer, my boy. That's safe.

You know where you are, and it don't matter if you don't agree about the wording of a psalm. If an American was told off to shoot a German, he'd ten to one turn round and say: 'Here, hold on a minute; that's my uncle!'"

"You think all the Germans in the States prefer their fatherland to their adopted country, or are they most of them spies?"

"Spies?" said Hilderman, "I don't believe in spies. It stands to reason there can't be much spying done in any country. Over here, for instance, for every German policeman in this country--for that's all a spy can be--there are about a thousand British policemen. What chance has the spy? You don't seriously believe in them, do you?" he added, smiling, as he offered me a Corona cigar.

"I don't know," I said doubtfully. I didn't want to argue with my good Samaritan. "There is no doubt a certain amount of spying done; but, of course, our policemen are hardly trained to cope with it. I daresay the whole business is very greatly exaggerated."

"You bet it is, my boy," he replied emphatically. "Going far?" he asked, suddenly changing the subject.

"North of Loch Hourn," I answered.

"Oh!" said Hilderman, with renewed interest. "Glenelg?"

"I take the boat to Glenelg and then drive back," I explained. I was in a mood to tell him just where I was going, and why, and all about myself; but I recollected, with an effort, that I was talking to a total stranger.

"Drive back?" he repeated after me, with a sudden return to his dreamy manner. Then, just as suddenly, he woke up again. "Where are we now?"

he asked.

"Pa.s.sing over Morar bridge," I explained.

"Dear me--yes, of course!" he exclaimed, with a glance out of the window. "Well, I must pack up my wraps. Good-bye, Mr. Ewart; I'm so glad to have met you. Your country's at war, and you look to me a very likely young man to do your best. Well, good-bye and good luck. I only wish I could join you."

"I wish you could," I replied heartily. "I shall certainly do my best.

And many thanks for your kind a.s.sistance."

And so we parted, and returned to our respective compartments to put our things together; for our journey--the rail part of it, at any rate--was nearly over. And it was not until long afterwards that I realised that he had called me by my name, and I had never told him what it was.

CHAPTER III.

MAINLY ABOUT MYRA.

The train slowed down into Mallaig station. I thrilled with antic.i.p.ation, for now I had only the journey on the boat, and Myra would be waiting for me at Glenelg. The train had hardly stopped when I seized my bag and jumped out on to the platform. The next instant I was nearly knocked back into the carriage again. A magnificent Great Dane had jumped at me with a deep bark of flattering welcome, and planted his paws on my shoulders.

"Sholto, my dear old man!" I cried in excitement, dropping my bag and looking round expectantly. It was Myra's dog, and there, sure enough, was a beautiful vision of brown eyes and brown-gold hair, in a heather-coloured Burberry costume, running down the platform to meet me.

"Well--darling?" I said, as I met her half-way.

"Well?" she whispered, as she took my hand, and I looked into the depths of those wonderful eyes. Truly I was a lucky dog. The world was a most excellent place, full of delightful people; and even if I were an impecunious young barrister I was richer than Croesus in the possession of those beautiful brown eyes, which looked on all the world with the gentle affection of a tender and indulgent sister, but which looked on me with----Oh! hang it all!--a fellow can't write about these sort of things when they affect him personally. Besides, they belong to me--thank G.o.d!

"I got your telegram, dear," said Myra, as we strolled out of the station behind the porter who had appropriated my bag. Sholto brought up the rear. He had too great an opinion of his own position to be jealous of me--or at any rate he was too dignified to show it--and he had always admitted me into the inner circle of his friendship in a manner that was very charming, if not a little condescending.

"Did you, darling?" I said, in reply to Myra's remark.

"Yes; it was delivered first thing this morning, and father was very pleased about it."

"Really!" I exclaimed. "I _am_ glad. I was afraid he might be rather annoyed."

"I was a little bit surprised myself," she confessed, "though I'm sure I don't know why I should be. Dad's a perfect dear--he always was and he always will be. But he has been very determined about our engagement. When I told him you'd wired you were coming he was tremendously pleased. He kept on saying, 'I'm glad; that's good news, little woman, very good news. 'Pon my soul I'm doocid glad!' He said you were a splendid fellow--I can't think what made him imagine that--but he said it several times, so I suppose he had some reason for it. I was frightfully pleased. I like you to be a splendid fellow, Ron!"

I was very glad to hear that the old General was really pleased to hear of my visit. I had intended to stay at the Glenelg Hotel, as I could hardly invite myself to Invermalluch Lodge, even though I had known the old man all my life. Accordingly I took it as a definite sign that his opposition was wearing down when Myra told me I was expected at the house.

"And he said," she continued, "that he never heard such ridiculous nonsense as your saying you were coming to the hotel, and that if you preferred a common inn to the house that had been good enough for him and his fathers before him, you could stop away altogether. So there!"

"Good--that's great!" I said enthusiastically. "But did you come over by the boat from Glenelg, or what?"

"No, dear; I came in the motor-boat, so we don't need to hang about the pier here. We can either go straight home or wait a bit, whichever you like. I wanted to meet you, and I thought you'd rather come back with me in the motor-boat than jolt about in the stuffy old _Sheila_."

"Rather, dear; I should say I would," said I--and a lot more besides, which has nothing to do with the story. Suddenly Myra's motherly instinct awoke.

"Have you had breakfast?" she asked.

"Yes, dear--at Crianlarich. The only decent meal to be got on a railway in this country is a Crianlarich breakfast."

"Well, in that case you're ready for lunch. It's gone twelve. I could do with something myself, incidentally, and I want to talk to you before we start for home. Let's have lunch here."

I readily agreed, and after calling Sholto, who was being conducted on a tour of inspection by the parson's dog, we strolled up the hill to the hotel. As we entered the long dining-room we came upon Hilderman, seated at one of the tables with his back to us.

"Yes," he was saying to the waiter, "I have been spending the week-end on the Clyde in a yacht. I joined the train at Ardlui this morning, and I can tell you----"

I didn't wait to hear any more. Rather by instinct than as a result of any definite train of thought, I led Myra quickly behind a j.a.panese screen to a small table by a side window. After all, it was no business of mine if Hilderman wished to say he had joined the train at Ardlui. He probably had his own reasons. Possibly Dennis was right, and the man was a detective. But I had seen him at King's Cross and again at Edinburgh before we reached Ardlui, so I thought it might embarra.s.s him if I walked in on the top of his a.s.sertion that he had just come from the Clyde. However, Myra was with me, which was much more important, and I dismissed Hilderman and his little fib from my mind.

"Ronnie," said Myra, in the middle of lunch, "you haven't said anything about the war."

"No, dear," I answered clumsily. "It----" It was an astonishingly difficult thing to say when it came to saying it.