He opened it, glanced it through, and flung his hand in the air.
"The stinking brock!" says he, and crammed the paper in his pocket.
"Here, let's get our things together. This place is fair death to
me." And he began to walk towards the inn.
It was Catriona that spoke the first. "He has sold you?" she
asked.
"Sold me, my dear," said Alan. "But thanks to you and Davie, I'll
can jink him yet. Just let me win upon my horse," he added.
"Catriona must come with us," said I. "She can have no more
traffic with that man. She and I are to be married." At which she
pressed my hand to her side.
"Are ye there with it?" says Alan, looking back. "The best day's
work that ever either of you did yet! And I'm bound to say, my
dawtie, ye make a real, bonny couple."
The way that he was following brought us close in by the windmill,
where I was aware of a man in seaman's trousers, who seemed to be
spying from behind it. Only, of course, we took him in the rear.
"See, Alan!"
"Wheesht!" said, he, "this is my affairs."
The man was, no doubt, a little deafened by the clattering of the
mill, and we got up close before he noticed. Then he turned, and
we saw he was a big fellow with a mahogany face.
"I think, sir," says Alan, "that you speak the English?"
"Non, monsieur," says he, with an incredible bad accent.
"Non, monsieur," cries Alan, mocking him. "Is that how they learn
you French on the Seahorse? Ye muckle, gutsey hash, here's a Scots
boot to your English hurdies!"
And bounding on him before he could escape, he dealt the man a kick
that laid him on his nose. Then he stood, with a savage smile, and
watched him scramble to his feet and scamper off into the sand-
hills.
"But it's high time I was clear of these empty bents!" said Alan;
and continued his way at top speed, and we still following, to the
backdoor of Bazin's inn.
It chanced that as we entered by the one door we came face to face
with James More entering by the other.
"Here!" said I to Catriona, "quick! upstairs with you and make your
packets; this is no fit scene for you."
In the meanwhile James and Alan had met in the midst of the long
room. She passed them close by to reach the stairs; and after she
was some way up I saw her turn and glance at them again, though
without pausing. Indeed, they were worth looking at. Alan wore as
they met one of his best appearances of courtesy and friendliness,
yet with something eminently warlike, so that James smelled danger
off the man, as folk smell fire in a house, and stood prepared for
accidents.
Time pressed. Alan's situation in that solitary place, and his
enemies about him, might have daunted Caesar. It made no change in
him; and it was in his old spirit of mockery and daffing that he
began the interview.
"A braw good day to ye again, Mr. Drummond," said he. "What'll yon
business of yours be just about?"
"Why, the thing being private, and rather of a long story," says
James, "I think it will keep very well till we have eaten."
"I'm none so sure of that," said Alan. "It sticks in my mind it's
either now or never; for the fact is me and Mr. Balfour here have
gotten a line, and we're thinking of the road."
I saw a little surprise in James's eye; but he held himself
stoutly.
"I have but the one word to say to cure you of that," said he, "and
that is the name of my business."
"Say it then," says Alan. "Hout! wha minds for Davie?"
"It is a matter that would make us both rich men," said James.
"Do you tell me that?" cries Alan.
"I do, sir," said James. "The plain fact is that it is Cluny's
Treasure."
"No!" cried Alan. "Have ye got word of it?"
"I ken the place, Mr. Stewart, and can take you there," said James.
"This crowns all!" says Alan. "Well, and I'm glad I came to
Dunkirk. And so this was your business, was it? Halvers, I'm
thinking?"
"That is the business, sir," said James.