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and no one actually saw him doing anything; but there are plenty of stories."

"What kind of stories?" "Oh, the usual kind-that he was seen flashing lights on the shore and carrying petrol tins. But you can believe as much of them as you like." "And have your cousins no theory? They apparently saw a good deal of him."

"My cousin Philip says frankly he is absolutely beaten by the whole performance. Jean-well, girls are rum things."

"What are Miss Rendall's views, then?" I inquired.

"She is generally quick enough at guessing, and as fond of gossip as most of her sex, but for some reason she keeps very quiet about it. It's my belief she knows something. In fact, I shouldn't be surprised if Whiteslett had told

her a little and sworn her to secrecy. Men do tell women things sometimes, as I daresay you have noticed for yourself, Mr Hobhouse."

"What & very strange story!" murmured Mr Hobhouse.

So this was the tale of my escapade as it was told in Ransay. The doctor's manner of telling it was the best guarantee of his own good faith I could wish, and I was ready now to dismiss the blind incident as a misleading trifle. But O'Brien seemed to have gone out of his way to throw doubt on every point raised, and, curiously enough, to have always offered a wrong solution. It might be sheer contrariness, but it struck me as odd. As to Miss Jean's silence, what did that mean? I resolved to keep my eyes very wide open indeed.

V. WAITING.

graphs without so much as pausing for breath (in fact, he dared not pause, lest he forgot). Mr Hobhouse, moreover, talked in his garrulous way of adding his own modest contribution to this literature in the shape of a monograph on the antiquities of Ransay.

By a fortunate chance Dr Rendall was no expert in antiquarian matters, and yet had sufficient respect for those who were to give them every encouragement and make all allowances for any irregularity in their hours caused thereby. Mr Hobhouse possessed several very learned-looking volumes, With this end in view it such as 'The Early Christian was therefore very natural Monuments of Scotland,' 'The that he should spend much Windy Isles in Early Celtic of his time rambling over Times,' 'Ecclesiological Notes the island, particularly along some of the Islands of the coasts, where he declared Scotland,' and other tomes of the early monuments he was that nature; and from these especially interested in were he could quote whole para- mostly to be found, and should

on

"Really!" oried Mr Hobhouse. never had a uniform "How very interesting! What They promptly wired to t Naval Authorities, looked his

was it?"

"one morning when I had that when Commander Whitec!NTIMEN "Well," said the doctor, in his room meanwhile, a. WE BRI

fellow O'Brien staying with me, a young man walked into my house under the impression -so he said that it was my cousin's. Whether he told the truth or not I've often wondered since. He had no cap,

appeared he arrested him
took him off."

"And who was he?"
The doctor turned to
guest with an expressio
considerable indignation.

"The damned secrecy of INFINIEŻEŃ

was buttoned up in an oilskin Navy people is past belief RR FAMIT

coat (though I may say it was a fine morning), and talked with a distinct foreign accent. I could swear it was German, but O'Brien, who contradicted everything, stuck to it that it was Russian. A lot he knew about Russian! He was only in the house about five minutes, for when he discovered his mistake -or what he said was his mistake-he went off. And that is all I saw of him personally." "But did he go to Mr Rendall's, then?"

The doctor nodded.

"He turned up there and spent two or three nights in the house. The chap had the impudence of the devil. He said he had been landed from one of our own oruisers and didn't want to be recognised as an officer, so would they be kind enough to lend him a coat and let him look his uniform coat up in a drawer! He was in his oilskin all this time, you must remember. A day or tw later my cousins grogu® oious and opened

What do y

found

you know that not eve
cousins who caught the
for them were ever told a
word about him! Whi
took him straight off
drifter without so mu
saying good-bye-muc
thank you- to my
Philip, and that was
of it!"

"Then you never les
the fellow was?"

"He gave his na
ton-George, or wa
Merton. But you
as much of that a
"And did he
oruiser?"

"Not likel
was ever to!
They found
a parach
that wa
was re
lapsi
the

nay ally, he vas after,

and no one actually saw him her a little and sworn her m
doing anything; but there are secrecy. Men do tell women
plenty of stories."

things sometimes, as I darway
you have noticed for yourself,
Mr Hobhouse,"
"What a very strange
story!" murmured Mr Hob-
house.

escapade as it was told in
So this was the tale of my
Ransay. The doctor's manner
and
"My cousin Philip says guarantee of his own good
of telling it was the best
frankly he is absolutely beaten faith I could wish, and I was
by the whole performance. ready now to dismiss the blind
Jean-well, girls are rum incident as a misleading trifle.
things." di But O'Brien seemed to have
"What are Miss Rendall's gone out of his way to throw
views, then?" I inquired, doubt on every point raised,
"She is generally quick and, curiously enough, to have
enough at guessing, and as always offered a wrong solu
fond of gossip as most of her tion. It might be sheer con-
sex, but for some reason she trariness, but it struck me as
keeps very quiet about it. It's odd. As to Miss Jean's silence,
my belief she knows something. what did that mean! In
In fact, I shouldn't be sur solved to keep my eyes very
prised if Whiteslett had teld wide open indeed.

losti sit of bam 1 V. WAITING.
albind cristalding

By a fortunate chance Dr graphs wi
Rendall was no expert in pansing

antiquarian matters, and yet dit
had sufficient respect for the

who were to give them y encouragement and make allowances is any ingui

in their hy Mr Hole verynig The Bay G

icence that

gave him

easy moments. But inutes his indefatigdliness had conquered ehold, and he knew was safe to visit that enever the fancy took ter senior told him a y about the fairies who en dancing round the his father's time, and his family were evilittle distressed by his e to anything so unble, and Jook hooted times, their visitor exthe liveliest interest,and e tale religiously down note-book.

was all that could be at the moment - the ishment of a perfectly less reputation and of a ral reason for visiting that icular place at odd times. Hobhouse obtained permisa to do a little digging ere if he desired it, and arted with the family on the best of terms.

[graphic]

down quary in der more al, and the hind.

ie Scollays was coess, so far as the personality of Sylvester Hobhouse first they looked at h an obvious suspicion, plied to his questions

"Slow work!" he said to himself as he struck out for home, with his limp rapidly vanishing. "But what the devil else can one do? What is there definite to take hold of?"

That was the baffling feature of the business. As my cousin said, such scent as there was had grown cold by this time, and one had to begin at the beginning again. And so far there seemed to be no beginning. The detectives of fiction might have found some clue to start a train of logical and inevitable reasoning that led straight to the criminal, but the detective of fact had

even at times be detained by his enthusiasm till darkness had fallen. It was also very natural that he should wish to consult all the most ancient inhabitants, and should in consequence seek out and interview every native over sixty years of age. In short, this hobby not only gave this enthusiastic gentleman a sound pretext for being in the most out-of-the-way places at the most unlikely hours, but also for inspecting narrowly with his own eyes each whitebearded patriarch who might, or might not, have worn six months ago a pair of tinted spectacles; which-to descend slightly in the literary scaleaccounts for the milk in the cocoanut.

All this, of course, was not only perceived by his guardian medical attendant, but blessed with his strong approval, for nothing counteracts the taste for liquor so effectually as another hobby. But what Thomas Sylvester devoutly prayed the doctor did not see was his patient slipping out of his window in the small hours of the morning, and from the roof of an outhouse just below examining the shore through a night - glass. In February and March weather this was far too uncomfortable to last long or to be repeated every night, and the shore was too far away to make it very effective. Still, he did think he noticed a glimmer once or twice, and each time his antiquarian expedition next day included certain artless inquiries which might have

thrown some light on the

matter had the answers been satisfactory. As a matter of fact, however, they never were, and the extraordinary appearance of interest with which the effusive gentleman listened to useless information reflected more credit on his resolution than any one will ever realise. I may add that the professional watchers in the island were not of course in the secret of Mr Hobhouse's identity, and therefore could not report to him directly anything they might see or suspect. But if they did see or suspect anything, he would very quickly be informed through another source. However, Commander Whiteclett based no great hopes on the possibility of catching our wily enemy out by means of a palpable man in uniform, and Mr H. had been instructed to act exactly as though he were alone on the job.

One of his earliest expeditions was made to the site of a prehistoric building in the near vicinity of the Scollays' farm-at least there was a grassy knoll visible whieh Mr H.'s expert eye at once pronounced to be worthy of very careful inspection, and in order to confirm his theories he decided to visit the farm to make inquiry as to any possible traditions regarding it.

He passed round the knoll with this purpose, to discover that he was no longer meditating alone. A familiar figure confronted him, with dark staring eyes, gaping mouth, and stubbly beard-my old friend Jook. For a moment there

returned that feeling of stage fright. Next to the Rendalls, the Scollay household, and particularly Jock, had seen and conversed most often with the mysterious Merton. Jook was only an idiot, but where reason is lacking instinct is apt to be strong, and instinot might distinguish an old acquaintance through all my disguise. Anyhow, rightly or wrongly, I felt that this was another delicate moment.

"Good-day, my good fellow. Good-day to you!" said the friendly Mr Hobhouse. "A little better weather to-day!"

The surprise of the affable gentleman at getting only a grunt in reply, his air of gradual comprehension, and then of friendly sympathy, were acted for all they were worth. And, to my vast relief, Jock showed no glimmer of recognition of the young man with the revolver.

"Do you know who lives at that farm?" inquired Mr Hobhouse, speaking very distinctly. "Tolly, you say? Oh, jolly? Yes, very jolly! Ha, ha! Good-bye, my lad, goodbye to you!"

Jock's hoot of laughter was answered by Mr Hobhouse's giggle, and they set off down to the farm, the antiquary in front limping rather more markedly than usual, and the idiot rambling behind.

The visit to the Scollays was a distinct success, so far as establishing the personality of Mr Thomas Sylvester Hobhouse went. At first they looked at him with an obvious suspicion, and replied to his questions

with a reticence that gave him a few uneasy moments. But in ten minutes his indefatigable friendliness had conquered the household, and he knew that he was safe to visit that knoll whenever the fancy took him. Peter senior told him a long story about the fairies who were seen dancing round the knoll in his father's time, and though his family were evidently a little distressed by his reference to anything so unfashionable, and Jook hooted several times, their visitor exhibited the liveliest interest, and put the tale religiously down in his note-book.

This was all that could be done at the moment - the establishment of a perfectly harmless reputation and of a natural reason for visiting that particular place at odd times. Mr Hobhouse obtained permission to do a little digging there if he desired it, and parted with the family on the best of terms.

"Slow work!" he said to himself as he struck out for home, with his limp rapidly vanishing. "But what the devil

else can one do? What is there definite to take hold of?"

That was the baffling feature of the business. As my cousin said, such scent as there was had grown cold by this time, and one had to begin at the beginning again. And so far there seemed to be no beginning. The detectives of fiction might have found some clue to start a train of logical and inevitable reasoning that led straight to the criminal, but the detective of fact had

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