effect is produced.'

Merton went to bed, marvelling at the self-command of the millionaire. He
himself slept ill, absorbed in regret and darkling conjecture.

After writing out several telegrams for Merton to carry, the smitten
victim of enormous opulence sought repose. But how vainly! Between him
and the pages which report the prosings of Miss Bates and Mr. Woodhouse
intruded visions of his daughter, a captive, perhaps crossing the
Atlantic, perhaps hidden, who knew, in a shieling or a cavern in the
untrodden wastes of Assynt or of Lord Reay's country. At last these
appearances were merged in sleep.

III. Logan to the Rescue!

As Merton sped on the motor next day to the nearest telegraph station,
with Mr. Macrae's sheaf of despatches, Dr. MacTavish found him a very
dull companion. He named the lochs and hills, Quinag, Suilvean, Ben Mor,
he dwelt on the merits of the trout in the lochs; he showed the
melancholy improvements of the old Duke; he spoke of duchesses and of
crofters, of anglers and tourists; he pointed to the ruined castle of the
man who sold the great Montrose--or did not sell him. Merton was
irresponsive, trying to think. What was this mystery? Why did the
wireless machine bring no response from its headquarters; or how could
practical jokers have intruded into the secret chambers of Messrs.
Gianesi and Giambresi? These dreams or visions of his own on the night
before Miss Macrae was taken--were they wholly due to tobacco and the
liver?

'I thought I was awake,' said Merton to himself, 'when I was only
dreaming about the crimson blot on the ceiling. Was I asleep when I saw
the tartans go down the stairs? I used to walk in my sleep as a boy. It
is very queer!'

'Frae the top o' Ben Mor,' the doctor was saying, 'on a fine day, they
tell me, with a glass you can pick up "The Seven Hunters."'

'Eh, what? I beg your pardon, I am so confused by this wretched affair.
What did you say you can pick up?'

'Just "The Seven Hunters,"' said the doctor rather sulkily.

'And what are "The Seven Hunters"?'

'Just seven wee sma' islandies ahint the Butt of Lewis. The maps ca'
them the Flanan Islands.'

Merton's heart gave a thump. The first message from the Gianesi
invention was dated 'The Seven Hunters.' Here was a clue.

'Are the islands inhabited?' asked Merton.

'Just wi' wild goats, and, maybe, fishers drying their fish. And three
men in a lighthouse on one of them,' said the