it back. The other way will wreck public credit. That's what I
say. Supposin' some Labour Government takes the notion that soap's bad
for the nation? Are they goin' to shut up Port Sunlight? Or good
clothes? Or lum hats? There's no end to their daftness if they once
start on that track. A lawfu' trade's a lawfu' trade, says I, and it's
contrary to public policy to pit it at the mercy of wheen cranks. D'ye
no agree, sir? By the way, I havena got your name?'

I told him and he rambled on.

'We're blenders and do a very high-class business, mostly foreign. The
war's hit us wi' our export trade, of course, but we're no as bad as
some. What's your line, Mr McCaskie?'

When he heard he was keenly interested.

'D'ye say so? Ye're from Todd's! Man, I was in the book business
mysel', till I changed it for something a wee bit more lucrative. I was
on the road for three years for Andrew Matheson. Ye ken the
name--Paternoster Row--I've forgotten the number. I had a kind of
ambition to start a book-sellin' shop of my own and to make Linklater
o' Paisley a big name in the trade. But I got the offer from
Hatherwick's, and I was wantin' to get married, so filthy lucre won the
day. And I'm no sorry I changed. If it hadna been for this war, I would
have been makin' four figures with my salary and commissions ... My
pipe's out. Have you one of those rare and valuable curiosities called
a spunk, Mr McCaskie?'

He was a merry little grig of a man, and he babbled on, till I
announced my intention of going to bed. If this was Amos's bagman, who
had been seen in company with Gresson, I understood how idle may be the
suspicions of a clever man. He had probably foregathered with Gresson
on the Skye boat, and wearied that saturnine soul with his cackle.

I was up betimes, paid my bill, ate a breakfast of porridge and fresh
haddock, and walked the few hundred yards to the station. It was a
warm, thick morning, with no sun visible, and the Skye hills misty to
their base. The three coaches on the little train were nearly filled
when I had bought my ticket, and I selected a third-class smoking
carriage which held four soldiers returning from leave.

The train was already moving when a late passenger hurried along the
platform and clambered in beside me. A cheery 'Mornin', Mr McCaskie,'
revealed my fellow guest at the hotel.

We jolted away from the coast up a broad glen and then on to a wide
expanse of bog with big hills showing towards the