acles?'

It contained a description of one Brand, a South African and a
suspected character, whom the police were warned to stop and return to
Oban. The description wasn't bad, but it lacked any one good
distinctive detail. Clearly the policeman took me for an innocent
pedestrian, probably the guest of some moorland shooting-box, with my
brown face and rough tweeds and hobnailed shoes.

I frowned and puzzled a little. 'I did see a fellow about three miles
back on the hillside. There's a public-house just where the burn comes
in, and I think he was making for it. Maybe that was your man. This
wire says "South African"; and now I remember the fellow had the look
of a colonial.'

The policeman sighed. 'No doubt it will be the man. Perhaps he will haf
a pistol and will shoot.'

'Not him,' I laughed. 'He looked a mangy sort of chap, and he'll be
scared out of his senses at the sight of you. But take my advice and
get somebody with you before you tackle him. You're always the better
of a witness.'

'That is so,' he said, brightening. 'Ach, these are the bad times! in
old days there wass nothing to do but watch the doors at the
flower-shows and keep the yachts from poaching the sea-trout. But now
it is spies, spies, and "Donald, get out of your bed, and go off twenty
mile to find a German." I wass wishing the war wass by, and the Germans
all dead.'

'Hear, hear!' I cried, and on the strength of it gave him another dram.

I accompanied him to the road, and saw him mount his bicycle and
zig-zag like a snipe down the hill towards Achranich. Then I set off
briskly northward. It was clear that the faster I moved the better.

As I went I paid disgusted tribute to the efficiency of the Scottish
police. I wondered how on earth they had marked me down. Perhaps it was
the Glasgow meeting, or perhaps my association with Ivery at
Biggleswick. Anyhow there was somebody somewhere mighty quick at
compiling a _dossier_. Unless I wanted to be bundled back to Oban I
must make good speed to the Arisaig coast.

Presently the road fell to a gleaming sea-loch which lay like the blue
blade of a sword among the purple of the hills. At the head there was a
tiny clachan, nestled among birches and rowans, where a tawny burn
wound to the sea. When I entered the place it was about four o'clock in
the afternoon, and peace lay on it like a garment. In the wide, sunny
street there was no sign of life, and no sound except of hens clucking
and of b