a piece of string, which he hung round
his neck, tucking all under his shirt. Then he arranged his thick
comforter so as to hide the back of his head and neck (he had bitten his
nails and blackened them with coal).

'Logan, I only want a bottle of whisky, the cork drawn and loose in the
bottle, and a few dirty Scotch one pound notes; and, oh! has Mrs. Bower a
pack of cards?'

Having been supplied with these properties, and said farewell to Logan,
Merton stole downstairs, walked round the house, entered the kitchen by
the back door, and said to Mrs. Bower, 'Grannie, I maun be ganging.'

'My grandson, gentlemen,' said Mrs. Bower to the detectives. Then to her
grandson, she remarked, 'Hae, there's a jeely piece for you'; and Merton,
munching a round of bread covered with jam, walked down the steep avenue.
He knew the house he was to enter, the gardener's lodge, and also that he
was to approach it by the back way, and go in at the back door. The
inmates expected him and understood the scheme; presently he went out by
the door into the village street, still munching at his round of bread.

To such lads and lassies as hailed him in the waning light he replied
gruffly, explaining that he had 'a sair hoast,' that is, a bad cough,
from which he had observed that young Bower was suffering. He was soon
outside of the village, and walking at top speed towards the station.
Several times he paused, in shadowy corners of the hedges, and listened.
There was no sound of pursuing feet. He was not being followed, but, of
course, he might be dogged at the station. The enemy would have their
spies there: if they had them in the village his disguise had deceived
them. He ran, whenever no passer-by was in sight; through the villages
he walked, whistling 'Wull ye no come back again!' He reached the
station with three minutes to spare, took a third-class ticket, and went
on to the platform. Several people were waiting, among them four or five
rough-looking miners, probably spies. He strolled towards the end of the
platform, and when the train entered, leaped into a third-class carriage
which was nearly full. Turning at the door, he saw the rough customers
making for the same carriage. 'Come on,' cried Merton, with a slight
touch of intoxication in his voice; 'come on billies, a' freens here!'
and he cast a glance of affection behind him at the other occupants of
the carriage. The roughs pressed in.

'I won't have it,' cried a t