ith those nightly dinners
cooked by a French _chef_; yet Leithcourt seemed to possess a long
pocket and smiled upon those parasites, officers of doubtful commission
and younger sprigs of the pseudo-aristocracy who surrounded him, while
his wife, keen-eyed and of superb bearing, was punctilious concerning
all points of etiquette, and at the same time indefatigable that her
mixed set of guests should enjoy a really good time.

But I was not the only person who could not make them out. My uncle was
the first to open my eyes regarding the true character of certain of the
men staying at Rannoch.

"I think, Gordon, that one or two of those fellows with Leithcourt are
rank outsiders," he said confidentially to me one night after we had had
a hard day's shooting, and were playing a hundred up at billiards before
retiring. "One man, who arrived yesterday, I know too well. He was
struck off the list at Boodle's three years ago for card-sharping--that
thin-faced, fair-mustached man named Cadby. I suppose Leithcourt doesn't
know it, or he wouldn't have him up here among respectable folk." And my
uncle, chewing the end of his cigar, sniffed angrily, seeming half
inclined to give his friend a gentle hint that the name Cadby was placed
beyond the pale of good society.

"Better not say anything about it," I urged. "It's Leithcourt's own
affair, uncle--not ours."

"Yes, but if a man sets up a position in the country he mustn't be
allowed to ask us to meet such fellows. It's coming it a little too
thick, Gordon. We men can stand the women of the party, but the
men--well, I tell you candidly, I shan't accept his invites to shoot
again."

"No, no, uncle," I protested. "Probably it's owing to ignorance. You'll
be able, a little later on, to give him valuable tips. He's a good
fellow, and only wants experience in Scotland to get along all right."

"Yes. But I don't like it, my boy, I don't like it! It isn't playing a
fair game," declared the rigid old gentleman, coloring resentfully. "I'm
not going to return the invitation and ask that sharper, Cadby, to my
house--and I tell you that plainly."

Next day I shot with the Carmichaels of Crossburn, and about four
o'clock, after a good day, took leave of the party in the Black Glen,
and started off alone to walk home, a distance of about six miles. It
was already growing dusk, and would be quite dark, I knew, before I
reached my uncle's house. My most direct way was to follow the river fo