LITMIR.BIZ

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were they?’ Leithen asked.

      ‘Only got a side glance at them. They seemed to be a stout woman and a girl – oh, and a yelping little dog. I expect Archie kicked him, for he was giving tongue from the drawing-room.’

      The door opened to admit their host, who bore in one hand a large whisky-and-soda. He dropped wearily into a chair, where he sipped the beverage. An observer might have noted that what could be seen of his wholesome face was much inflamed, and that a bandage round chin and cheeks which ended in a top-knot above his scalp gave him the appearance of Ricquet with the Tuft in the fairytale.

      ‘That’s all right,’ he said, in the tone of a man who has done a good piece of work. ‘I’ve choked off visitors at Crask for a bit, for the old lady will put it all round the country-side.’

      ‘Put what?’ said Leithen, and ‘Who is the old lady?’ asked Lamancha, and ‘Did you kick the dog?’ demanded Palliser-Yeates.

      Archie looked drearily at his friends. ‘It was Lady Claybody and a daughter – I think the second one – and their horrid little dog. They won’t come back in a hurry – nobody will come back – I’m marked down as a pariah. Hang it, I may as well chuck my candidature. I’ve scuppered my prospects for the sake of you three asses.’

      ‘What has the blessed martyr been and done?’ asked Palliser-Yeates.

      ‘I’ve put a barrage round this place, that’s all. I was very civil to the Claybodys, though I felt a pretty fair guy with my head in a sling. I bustled about, talking nonsense and offerin’ tea, and then, as luck would have it, I trod on the hound. That’s the worst of my game leg. The brute nearly had me over, and it started howlin’ – you must have heard it. That dog’s a bit weak in the head, for it can’t help barkin’ just out of pure cussedness – Lady Claybody says it’s high-strung because of its fine breedin’. It got something to bark for this time, and the old woman had it in her arms fondlin’ it and lookin’ very old- fashioned at me. It seems the beast’s name is Roguie and she called it her darlin’ Wee Roguie, for she’s pickin’ up a bit of Scots since she came to live in these parts … Lucky Mackenzie wasn’t at home. He’d have eaten it … Well, after that things settled down, and I was just goin’ to order tea, when it occurred to the daughter to ask what was wrong with my face. Then I had an inspiration.’

      Archie paused and smiled sourly.

      ‘I said I didn’t know, but I feared I might be sickenin’ for small-pox. I hinted that my face was a horrid sight under the bandage.’

      ‘Good for you, Archie,’ said Lamancha. ‘What happened then?’

      ‘They bolted – fairly ran for it. They did record time into their car – scarcely stopped to say goodbye. I suppose you realise what I’ve done, you fellows. The natives here are scared to death of infectious diseases, and if we hadn’t our own people we wouldn’t have a servant left in the house. The story will be all over the country-side in two days, and my only fear is that it may bring some medical officer of health nosin’ round … Anyhow, it will choke off visitors.’

      ‘Archie, you’re a brick,’ was Lamancha’s tribute.

      ‘I’m very much afraid I’m a fool, but thank Heaven I’m not the only one. Sime,’ he shouted in a voice of thunder, ‘what’s happened to tea?’

      The shout brought the one-armed butler and Shapp with the apparatus of the meal, and an immense heap of letters all addressed to Sir Archibald Roylance.

      ‘Hullo! the mail has arrived,’ cried the master of the house. ‘Now let’s see what’s the news of John Macnab?’

      He hunted furiously among the correspondence, tearing open envelopes and distributing letters to the others with the rapidity of a conjurer. One little sealed packet he reserved to the last, and drew from it three missives bearing the same superscription.

      These he opened, glanced at, and handed to Lamancha. ‘Read ’em out, Charles,’ he said. ‘It’s the answers at last.’

      Lamancha read slowly the first document, of which this is the text:

      GLENRADEN CASTLE,

      STRATHLARRIG,

      Aug. — 19—.

      SIR,

      I have received your insolent letter. I do not know what kind of rascal you may be, except that you have the morals of a bandit and the assurance of a halfpenny journalist. But since you seem in your perverted way to be a sportsman, I am not the man to refuse your challenge. My reply is, sir, damn your eyes and have a try. I defy you to kill a stag in my forest between midnight on the 28th of August and midnight of the 30th. I will give instructions to my men to guard my marches, and if you should be roughly handled by them you have only to blame yourself.

      Yours faithfully,

      ALASTAIR RADEN.

      John Macnab, Esq.

      ‘That’s a good fellow,’ said Archie with conviction. ‘Just the sort of letter I’d write myself. He takes things in the proper spirit. But it’s a blue look-out for your chances, my lads. What old Raden doesn’t know about deer isn’t knowledge.’

      Lamancha read the second reply:

      STRATHLARRIG HOUSE,

      STRATHLARRIG,

      Aug —, 19—.

      MY DEAR SIR,

      Your letter was somewhat of a surprise, but as I am not yet familiar with the customs of this country, I forbear to enlarge on this point, and since you have marked it ‘Confidential’ Iam unable to take advice. You state that you intend to kill a salmon in the Strathlarrig water between midnight on September 1 and midnight on September 3, this salmon, if killed, to remain my property. I have consulted such books as might give me guidance, and I am bound to state that in my view the laws of Scotland are hostile to your suggested enterprise. Nevertheless, I do not take my stand on the law, for I presume that your proposition is conceived in a sporting spirit, and that you dare me to stop you. Well, sir, I will see you on that hand. The fishing is not that good at present that I am inclined to quarrel about one salmon. I give you leave to use every method that may occur to you to capture that fish, and I promise to use every method that may occur to me to prevent you. In your letter you undertake to use only ‘legitimate means.’ I would have pleasure in meeting you in the same spirit, but I reckon that all means are counted legitimate in the capture of poachers.

      Cordially,

      JUNIUS THEODORE BANDICOTT.

      Mr J. Macnab.

      ‘That’s the young ’un,’ Archie observed. ‘The old man was christened “Acheson,” and don’t take any interest in fishin’. He spends his time in lookin’ for Norse remains.’

      ‘He seems a decent sort of fellow,’ said Palliser-Yeates, ‘but I don’t quite like the last sentence. He’ll probably try shooting, same as his countrymen once did on the Beauly. Whoever gets this job will have some excitement for his money.’

      Lamancha read out the last letter:

      227 NORTH MELVILLE STREET,

      EDINBURGH,

      Aug —, 19—.

      SIR,

      Re Haripol Forest

      Our client, the Right Honourable Lord Claybody, has read to us on the telephone your letter of Aug. – and has desired us to reply to it. We are instructed to say that our client is at a loss to understand how to take your communication, whether as a piece of impertinence or as a serious threat. If it is the latter, and you persist in your intention, we are instructed to apply to the Court for a summary interdict to prevent your entering upon his lands. We would also point out that under the Criminal Law of Scotland, any person whatsoever who commits a trespass in

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