as
presently engaged in the feverish dialectic which the long-distance
telephone involves. "I want to speak to Mr. Glendonan himself.... Yes,
yes, Mr. Caw of Paton and Linklater.... Good afternoon....
Huntingtower. Yes, in Carrick. Not to let? But I understand it's
been in the market for some months. You say you've an idea it has just
been let. But my client is positive that you're mistaken, unless the
agreement was made this morning.... You'll inquire? Ah, I see. The
actual factoring is done by your local agent, Mr. James Loudon, in
Auchenlochan. You think my client had better get into touch with him
at once. Just wait a minute, please."

He put his hand over the receiver. "Usual Edinburgh way of doing
business," he observed caustically. "What do you want done?"

"I'll run down and see this Loudon. Tell Glendonan and Spiers to
advise him to expect me, for I'll go this very day."

Mr. Caw resumed his conversation. "My client would like a telegram
sent at once to Mr. Loudon introducing him. He's Mr. Dickson McCunn of
Mearns Street--the great provision merchant, you know. Oh, yes! Good
for any rent. Refer if you like to the Strathclyde Bank, but you can
take my word for it. Thank you. Then that's settled. Good-bye."

Dickson's next visit was to a gunmaker who was a fellow-elder with him
in the Guthrie Memorial Kirk.

"I want a pistol and a lot of cartridges," he announced. "I'm not
caring what kind it is, so long as it is a good one and not too big."

"For yourself?" the gunmaker asked. "You must have a license, I doubt,
and there's a lot of new regulations."

"I can't wait on a license. It's for a cousin of mine who's off to
Mexico at once. You've got to find some way of obliging an old friend,
Mr. McNair."

Mr. McNair scratched his head. "I don't see how I can sell you one.
But I'll tell you what I'll do--I'll lend you one. It belongs to my
nephew, Peter Tait, and has been lying in a drawer ever since he came
back from the front. He has no use for it now that he's a placed
minister."

So Dickson bestowed in the pockets of his water-proof a service
revolver and fifty cartridges, and bade his cab take him to the shop in
Mearns Street. For a moment the sight of the familiar place struck a
pang to his breast, but he choked down unavailing regrets. He ordered a
great hamper of foodstuffs--the most delicate kind of tinned goods, two
perfect hams, tongues, Strassburg pies, chocolate, cakes