nderstand your leaving in disguise; still, why go first
to Edinburgh?'

'The trains from your station to town do not fit. You can look.' And
Merton threw Bradshaw to Logan, who caught it neatly.

When he had satisfied himself, Logan said, 'The shops will be closed in
Edinburgh, it will be after eight when you arrive. How will you manage
about getting into decent clothes?'

'I have my idea; but, as soon as you can get rid of the detectives, come
back here; I want you to coach me in broad Scots words and pronunciation.
I shall concoct imaginary dialogues. I say, this is great fun.'

'Dod, man, aw 'm the lad that'll lairn ye the pronoonciation,' said
Logan, and he was going.

'Wait,' said Merton, 'sign me a paper giving me leave to treat about the
ransom. And promise that, if I don't reappear by the eleventh, you won't
negotiate at all.'

'Not likely I will,' said Logan.

Merton lay in bed inventing imaginary dialogues to be rendered into Scots
as occasion served. Presently Logan brought him a little book named
_Mansie Waugh_.

'That is our lingo here,' he said; and Merton studied the work carefully,
marking some phrases with a pencil.

In about an hour Logan reported that the detectives were at work in the
secret passage. The lesson in the Scots of the Lothians began,
accompanied by sounds of muffled laughter. Not for two or three
centuries can the turret chamber at Kirkburn have heard so much
merriment.

The afternoon passed in this course of instruction. Merton was a fairly
good mimic, and Logan felt at last that he could not readily be detected
for an Englishman. Six o'clock had scarcely struck when Mrs. Bower's
grandson was ushered into the bedroom. The exchange of clothes took
place, Merton dressing as the young Bower undressed. The detectives, who
had found nothing, were being entertained by Mrs. Bower at dinner.

'I know how the trap in the secret passage is worked,' said Merton, 'but
you keep them hunting for it.'

Had the worthy detectives been within earshot the yells of laughter
echoing in the turret as the men dressed must have suggested strange
theories to their imaginations.

'Larks!' said Merton, as he blackened his face with coal dust.

Dismissing young Bower, who was told to wait in the hall, Merton made his
final arrangements. 'You will communicate with me under cover to
Trevor,' he said. He took a curious mediaeval ring that he always wore
from his ringer, and tied it to