As Merton sped on the motor next day to the nearest telegraph station,
with Mr. Macrae's sheaf of despatches, Dr. MacTavish found him a very
dull companion. He named the lochs and hills, Quinag, Suilvean, Ben Mor,
he dwelt on the merits of the trout in the lochs; he showed the
melancholy improvements of the old Duke; he spoke of duchesses and of
crofters, of anglers and tourists; he pointed to the ruined castle of the
man who sold the great Montrose--or did not sell him. Merton was
irresponsive, trying to think. What was this mystery? Why did the
wireless machine bring no response from its headquarters; or how could
practical jokers have intruded into the secret chambers of Messrs.
Gianesi and Giambresi? These dreams or visions of his own on the night
before Miss Macrae was taken--were they wholly due to tobacco and the
liver?
'I thought I was awake,' said Merton to himself, 'when I was only
dreaming about the crimson blot on the ceiling. Was I asleep when I saw
the tartans go down the stairs? I used to walk in my sleep as a boy. It
is very queer!'
'Frae the top o' Ben Mor,' the doctor was saying, 'on a fine day, they
tell me, with a glass you can pick up "The Seven Hunters."'
'Eh, what? I beg your pardon, I am so confused by this wretched affair.
What did you say you can pick up?'
'Just "The Seven Hunters,"' said the doctor rather sulkily.
'And what are "The Seven Hunters"?'
'Just seven wee sma' islandies ahint the Butt of Lewis. The maps ca'
them the Flanan Islands.'
Merton's heart gave a thump. The first message from the Gianesi
invention was dated 'The Seven Hunters.' Here was a clue.
'Are the islands inhabited?' asked Merton.
'Just wi' wild goats, and, maybe, fishers drying their fish. And three
men in a lighthouse on one of them,' said the doctor.
They now rushed up to the hotel and telegraph office of Inchnadampf. The
doctor, after visiting the bar, went on in the motor to Lairg; it was to
return for Merton, who had business enough on hand in sending the
despatches. He was thinking over 'The Seven Hunters.' It might be,
probably was, a blind, or the kidnappers, having touched there, might
have departed in any direction--to Iceland, for what he knew. But the
name, 'the Seven Hunters,' was not likely to have been invented by a
practical joker in London. If not, the conspirators had really captured
and kept to themselves Mr. Macrae's line of wireless communications. How
could that have been done? Merton bitterly regretted that his general
information did not include electrical science.
However, he had first to send the despatches. In one Mr. Macrae informed
Gianesi and Giambresi of the condition of their instrument, and bade them
send another at once with a skilled operator, and to look out for
probable tamperers in their own establishment. This despatch was in a
cypher which before he got the new invention, and while he used the old
wires, Mr. Macrae had arranged with the electricians. The words of the
despatch were, therefore, peculiar, and the Highland lass who operated, a
girl of great beauty and modesty, at first declined to transmit the
message.
'It's maybe no proper, for a' that I ken,' she urged, and only by
invoking a local person of authority, and using the name of Mr. Macrae
very freely, could Merton obtain the transmission of the despatch.
In another document Mr. Macrae ordered 'more motors' and a dozen
bicycles, as the Nabob of old ordered 'more curricles.' He also
telegraphed to the Home Office, the Admiralty, the Hereditary Lord High
Admiral of the West Coast, to Messrs. McBrain, of the steamers, and to
every one who might have any access to the control of marine police or
information. He wired to the police at New York, bidding them warn all
American stations, and to the leading New York newspapers, knowing the
energy and inquiring, if imaginative, character of their reporters. Bude
ought to have done all this on the previous day, but Bude's ideas were
limited. Nothing, however, was lost, as America is not reached in forty-
eight hours. The millionaire instructed Scotland Yard to warn all
foreign ports, and left them _carte-blanche_ as to the offer of a reward
for the discovery of his missing daughter. He also put off all the
guests whom he had been expecting at Castle Skrae.
Merton was amazed at the energy and intelligence of a paternal mind
smitten by sudden grief. Mr. Macrae had even telegraphed to every London
newspaper, and to the leading Scottish and provincial journals, 'No
Interviewers need Apply.' Several hours were spent, as may be imagined,
in getting off these despatches from a Highland rural office, and Merton
tried to reward the fair operator. But she declined to accept a present
for doing her duty, and expressed lively sympathy for the poor young lady
who was lost. In a few days a diamond-studded watch and chain arrived
for Miss MacTurk.
Merton himself wired to Logan, imploring him, in the name of friendship,
to abandon all engagements, and come to Inchnadampf. Where kidnapping
was concerned he knew that Logan must be interested, and might be useful;
but, of course, he could not invite him to Castle Skrae. Meanwhile he
secured rooms for Logan at the excellent inn. Lady Fastcastle, he knew,
was in England, brooding over her first-born, the Master of Fastcastle.
Before these duties were performed the motor returned from Lairg, bearing
the two London detectives, one disguised as a gillie (he was the
detective who had the Gaelic), the other as a clergyman of the Church of
England. To Merton he whispered that he was to be an early friend of Mr.
Macrae, come to comfort him on the first news of his disaster. As to the
other, the gillie, Mr. Macrae was known to have been in want of an
assistant to the stalker, and Duncan Mackay (of Scotland Yard) had
accepted the situation. Merton approved of these arrangements; they were
such as he would himself have suggested.
'But I don't see what we can do, sir,' said the clerical detective (the
Rev. Mr. Williams), 'except perhaps find out if it was a put up thing
from within.'
Merton gave him a succinct sketch of the events, and he could see that
Mr. Williams already suspected Donald Macdonald, the engineer. Merton,
Mr. Williams, and the driver now got into the motor, and were followed by
the gillie-detective and a man to drive in a dog-cart hired from the inn.
Merton ordered all answers to telegrams to be sent by boys on bicycles.
It was late ere he returned to Castle Skrae. There nothing of importance
had occurred, except the arrival of more messages from the wireless
machine. They insisted that Miss Macrae was in perfect health, but
implored the millionaire to settle instantly, lest anxiety for a father's
grief should undermine her constitution.
Mr. Williams had a long interview with Mr. Macrae. It was arranged that
he should read family prayers in the morning and evening. He left _The
Church Quarterly Review_ and numbers of _The Expositor_, _The Guardian_,
and _The Pilot_ in the hall with his great coat, and on the whole his
entry was very well staged. Duncan Mackay occupied a room at the
keeper's, who had only eight children.
Mr. Williams asked if he might see Mr. Blake; he could impart religious
consolation. Merton carried this message, in answer to which Blake, who
was in bed very sulky and sleepy, merely replied, 'Kick out the
hell-hound.'
Merton was obliged to soften this rude message, saying that unfortunately
Mr. Blake was of the older faith, though he had expressed no wish for the
ministrations of Father McColl.
On hearing this Mr. Williams merely sighed, as the Budes were present. He
had been informed as to their tenets, and had even expressed a desire to
labour for their enlightenment, by way of giving local colour. He had,
he said, some stirring Protestant tracts among his clerical properties.
Mr. Macrae, however, had gently curbed this zeal, so on hearing of
Blake's religious beliefs the sigh of Mr. Williams was delicately
subdued.
Dinner-time arrived. Blake did not appear; the butler said that he
supported existence solely on dried toast and milk and soda-water. He
was one of the people who keep a private clinical thermometer, and he
sent the bulletin that his temperature was 103. He hoped to come
downstairs to-morrow. Mr. Williams gave the party some news of the outer
world. He had brought the _Scotsman_, and Mr. Macrae had the gloomy
satisfaction of reading a wildly inaccurate report of his misfortune.
Correct news had not reached the press, but deep sympathy was expressed.
The melancholy party soon broke up, Mr. Williams conducting family
prayers with much unction, after the Budes had withdrawn.
In a private interview with the millionaire Merton told him how he had
discovered the real meaning of 'The Seven Hunters,' whence the first
telegram of the kidnappers was dated. Neither man thought the
circumstance very important.
'They would hardly have ventured to name the islands if they had any idea
of staying there,' the millionaire said, 'besides any heartless jester
could find the name on a map.'
This was obvious, but as Lady Bude was much to be pitied, alone, in the
circumstances, Mr. Macrae determined to send her and Bude on the yacht,
the _Flora Macdonald_, to cruise round the Butt of Lewis and examine the
islets. Both Bude and his wife were devoted to yachting, and the isles
might yield something in the way of natural history.
Next day (Wednesday) the Budes steamed away, and there came many answers
to the telegrams of Mr. Macrae, and one from Logan to Merton. Logan was
hard by, cruising with his cousin, Admiral Chirnside, at the naval
manoeuvres on the northeast coast. He would come to Inchnadampf at once.
Mr. Macrae heard from Gianesi and Giambresi. Gianesi himself was coming
with a fresh machine. Mr. Macrae wished it had been Giambresi, whom he
knew; Gianesi he had never met. Condolences, of course, poured in from
all quarters, even the most exalted. The Emperor of Germany was most
sympathetic. But there was no news of importance. Several yachting
parties had been suspected and examined; three young ladies at Oban,
Applecross, and Tobermory, had established their identity and proved that
they were not Miss Macrae.
All day the wireless machine was silent. Mr. Williams was shown all the
rooms in the castle, and met Blake, who appeared at luncheon. Blake was
most civil. He asked for a private interview with Mr. Macrae, who
inquired whether his school friend, Mr. Williams, might share it? Blake
was pleased to give them both all the information he had, though his
head, he admitted, still rang with the cowardly blow that had stunned
him. He was told of the discovery of the burned boat, and was asked
whether it had approached from east or west, from the side of the
Atlantic, or from the head of the sea loch.
'From Kinlocharty,' he said, 'from the head of the loch, the landward
side.' This agreed with the evidence of the villagers on the other side
of the sea loch.
Would he recognise the crew? He had only seen them at a certain
distance, when they landed, but in spite of the blow on his head he
remembered the black beard of one man, and the red beard of another. To
be sure they might shave off their beards, yet these two he thought he
could identify. Speaking to Miss Macrae as the men passed them, he had
called one Donald Dubh, or 'black,' and the other Donald Ban, or 'fair.'
They carried heavy shepherds' crooks in their hands. Their dress was
Lowland, but they wore unusually broad bonnets of the old sort, drooping
over the eyes. Blake knew no more, except his anguish from the midges.
He expressed his hope to be well enough to go away on Friday; he would
retire to the inn at Scourie, and try to persevere with his literary
work. Mr. Macrae would not hear of this; as, if the miscreants were
captured, Blake alone could have a chance of identifying them. To this
Blake replied that, as long as Mr. Macrae thought that he might be
useful, he was at his service.
To Merton, Blake displayed himself in a new light. He said that he
remembered little of what occurred after he was found at the foot of the
cliff. Probably he was snappish and selfish; he was suffering very much.
His head, indeed, was still bound up, and his face showed how he had
suffered. Merton shook hands with him, and said that he hoped Blake
would forget his own behaviour, for which he was sincerely sorry.
'Oh, the chaff?' said Blake. 'Never mind, I dare say I played the fool.
I have been thinking, when my brain would give me leave, as I lay in bed.
Merton, you are a trifle my senior, and you know the world much better. I
have lived in a writing and painting set, where we talked nonsense till
it went to our heads, and we half believed it. And, to tell you the
truth, the presence of women always sets me off. I am a humbug; I do
_not_ know Gaelic, but I mean to work away at my drama for all that. This
kind of shock against the realities of life sobers a fellow.'
Blake spoke simply, in an unaffected, manly way.
'_Semel in saninivimus omnes_!' said Merton.
'_Nec lusisse pudet_!' said Blake, 'and the rest of it. I know there's a
parallel in the _Greek Anthology_, somewhere. I'll go and get my copy.'
He went into the observatory (they had been sitting on a garden seat
outside), and Merton thought to himself:
'He is not such a bad fellow. Not many of your young poets know anything
but French.'
Blake seemed to have some difficulty in finding his Anthology. At last
he came out with rather a 'carried' look, as the Scots say, rather
excited.
'Here it is,' he said, and handed Merton the little volume, of a
Tauchnitz edition, open at the right page. Merton read the epigram.
'Very neat and good,' he said.
'Now, Merton,' said Blake, 'it is not usual, is it, for ministers of the
Anglican sect to play the spy?'
'What in the world do you mean?' asked Merton. 'Oh, I guess, the Rev.
Mr. Williams! Were you not told that his cure of souls is in Scotland
Yard? I ought to have told you, I thought our host would have done so.
What was the holy man doing?'
'I was not told,' said Blake, 'I suppose Mr. Macrae was too busy. So I
was rather surprised, when I went into my room for my book, to find the
clergyman examining my things and taking books out of one of my book
boxes.'
'Good heavens!' exclaimed Merton. 'What did you do?'
'I locked the door of the room, and handed Mr. Williams the key of my
despatch box. "I have a few private trifles there," I said, "the key may
save you trouble." Then I sat down and wrote a note to Mr. Macrae, and
rang the bell and asked the servant to carry the note to his master. Mr.
Macrae came, and I explained the situation and asked him to be kind
enough to order the motor, if he could spare it, or anything to carry me
to the nearest inn.'
'I shall order it, Mr. Blake,' said Mr. Macrae, 'but it will be to remove
this person, whom I especially forbade to molest any of my guests. I
don't know how I forgot to tell you who he is, a detective; the others
were told.'
'He confounded himself in excuses; it was horribly awkward.'
'Horribly!' said Merton.
'He rated the man for visiting his guests' rooms without his knowledge. I
dare say the parson has turned over all _your_ things.'
Merton blenched. He had some of the correspondence of the Disentanglers
with him, rather private matter, naturally.
'He had not the key of my despatch box,' said Merton.
'He could open it with a quill, I believe,' said Blake. 'They do--in
novels.'
Merton felt very uneasy. 'What was the end of it?' he asked.
'Oh, I said that if the man was within his duty the accident was only one
of those which so singular a misfortune brings with it. I would stay
while Mr. Macrae wanted me. I handed over my keys, and insisted that all
my luggage and drawers and things should be examined. But Mr. Macrae
would not listen to me, and forbade the fellow to enter any of--the
bedrooms.'
'Begad, I'll go and look at my own despatch box,' said Merton.
'I shall sit in the shade,' said Blake.
Merton did examine his box, but could not see that any of the papers had
been disarranged. Still, as the receptacle was full of family secrets he
did not feel precisely comfortable. Going out on the lawn he met Mr.
Macrae, who took him into a retired place and told him what had occurred.
'I had given the man the strictest orders not to invade the rooms of any
of my guests,' he said; 'it is too odious.'
The Rev. Mr. Williams being indisposed, dined alone in his room that
night; so did Blake, who was still far from well.
The only other incident was that Donald Macdonald and the new gillie,
Duncan Mackay, were reported to be 'lying around in a frightfully
dissolute state.' Donald was a sober man, but Mackay, he explained next
morning, proved to be his long lost cousin, hence the revel. Mackay,
separately, stated that he had made Donald intoxicated for the purpose of
eliciting any guilty secret which he might possess. But whisky had
elicited nothing.
On the whole the London detectives had not been entirely a success. Mr.
Macrae therefore arranged to send both of them back to Lairg, where they
would strike the line, and return to the metropolis.
Merton had casually talked of Logan (Lord Fastcastle) to Mr. Macrae on
the previous evening, and mentioned that he was now likely to be at
Inchnadampf. Mr. Macrae knew something of Logan, and before he sped the
parting detectives, asked Merton whether he thought that he might send a
note to Inchnadampf inviting his friend to come and bear him company?
Merton gravely said that in such a crisis as theirs he thought that Logan
would be extremely helpful, and that he was a friend of the Budes.
Perhaps he himself had better go and pick up Logan and inform him fully
as to the mysterious events? As Mr. Gianesi was also expected from
London on that day (Thursday) to examine the wireless machine, which had
been silent, Mr. Macrae sent off several vehicles, as well as the motor
that carried the detectives. Merton drove the tandem himself.
Merton found Logan, with his Spanish bull-dog, Bouncer, loafing outside
the hotel door at Inchnadampf. He greeted Merton in a state of
suppressed glee; the whole adventure was much to the taste of the scion
of Rostalrig. Merton handed him Mr. Macrae's letter of invitation.
'Come, won't I come, rather!' said Logan.
'Of course we must wait to rest the horses,' said Merton. 'The motor has
gone on to Lairg, carrying two detectives who have made a pretty foozle
of it, and it will bring back an electrician.'
'What for?' asked Logan.
'I must tell you the whole story,' said Merton. 'Let us walk a little
way--too many gillies and people loafing about here.'
They walked up the road and sat down by little Loch Awe, the lochan on
the way to Alt-na-gealgach. Merton told all the tale, beginning with his
curious experiences on the night before the disappearance of Miss Macrae,
and ending with the dismissal of the detectives. He also confided to
Logan the importance of the matter to himself, and entreated him to be
serious.
Logan listened very attentively.
When Merton had ended, Logan said, 'Old boy, you were the making of me:
you may trust me. Serious it is. A great deal of capital must have been
put into this business.'
'A sprat to catch a whale,' said Merton. 'You mean about nobbling the
electric machine? How could _that_ be done?'
'That--and other things. I don't know _how_ the machine was nobbled, but
it could not be done cheap. Would you mind telling me your dreams
again?'
Merton repeated the story.
Logan was silent.
'Do you see your way?' asked Merton.
'I must have time to think it out,' said Logan. 'It is rather mixed.
When was Bude to return from his cruise to "The Seven Hunters"?'
'Perhaps to-night,' said Merton. 'We cannot be sure. She is a very
swift yacht, the _Flora Macdonald_.'
'I'll think it all over, Bude may give us a tip.'
No more would Logan say, beyond asking questions, which Merton could not
answer, about the transatlantic past of the vanished heiress.
They loitered back towards the hotel and lunched. The room was almost
empty, all the guests of the place were out fishing. Presently the motor
returned from Lairg, bringing Mr. Gianesi and a large box of his
electrical appliances. Merton rapidly told him all that he did not
already know through Mr. Macrae's telegrams. He was a reserved man,
rather young, and beyond thanking Merton, said little, but pushed on
towards Castle Skrae in the motor. 'Some other motors,' he said, 'had
arrived, and were being detained at Lairg.' They came later.
Merton and Logan followed in the tandem, Logan driving; they had handed
to Gianesi a sheaf of telegrams for the millionaire. As to the objects
of interest on the now familiar road, Merton enlightened Logan, who
seemed as absent-minded as Merton had been, when instructed by Dr.
MacTavish. As they approached the Castle, Merton observed, from a
height, the _Flora Macdonald_ steaming into the sea loch.
'Let us drive straight down to the cove and meet them,' he said.
They arrived at the cove just as the boat from the yacht touched the
shore. The Budes were astonished and delighted to see their old friend,
Logan, and his dog, Bouncer, a tawny black muzzled, bow-legged hero, was
admired by Lady Bude.
Merton rapidly explained. 'Now, what tidings?' he asked.
The party walked aside on the shore, and Bude swiftly narrated what he
had discovered.
'They _have_ been there,' he said. 'We drew six of the islets blank,
including the islet of the lighthouse. The men there had seen a large
yacht, two ladies and a gentleman from it had visited them. They knew no
more. Desert places, the other isles are, full of birds. On the seventh
isle we found some Highland fishermen from the Lewis in a great state of
excitement. They had only landed an hour before to pick up some fish
they had left to dry on the rocks. They had no English, but one of our
crew had the Gaelic, and interpreted in Scots. Regular Gaels, they did
not want to speak, but I offered money, gold, let them see it. Then they
took us to a cave. Do you know Mackinnon's cave in Mull, opposite Iona?'
'Yes, drive on!' said Merton, much interested.
'Well, inside it was pitched an empty corrugated iron house, quite new,
and another, on the further side, outside the cave.'
'I picked up this in the interior of the cave,' said Lady Bude.
'This' was a golden hair-pin of peculiar make.
'That's the kind of hair-pin she wears,' said Lady Bude.
'By Jove!' said Merton and Logan in one voice.
'But that was all,' said Bude. 'There was no other trace, except that
plainly people had been coming and going, and living there. They had
left some empty bottles, and two intact champagne bottles. We tasted it,
it was excellent! The Lewis men, who had not heard of the affair, could
tell nothing more, except, what is absurd, that they had lately seen a
dragon flying far off over the sea. A _dragon volant_, did you ever hear
such nonsense? The interpreter pronounced it "draigon." He had not too
much English himself.'
'The Highlanders are so delightfully superstitious,' said Lady Bude.
Logan opened his lips to speak, but said nothing.
'I don't think we should keep Mr. Macrae waiting,' said Lady Bude.
'If Bude will take the reins,' said Merton, 'you and he can be at the
Castle in no time. We shall walk.'
'Excuse me a moment,' said Logan. 'A word with you, Bude.'
He took Bude aside, uttered a few rapid sentences, and then helped Lady
Bude into the tandem. Bude followed, and drove away.
'Is your secret to be kept from me?' asked Merton.
'Well, old boy, you never told _me_ the mystery of the Emu's feathers!
Secret for secret, out with it; how did the feathers help you, if they
_did_ help you, to find out my uncle, the Marquis? _Gifgaff_, as we say
in Berwickshire. Out with your feathers! and I'll produce my _dragon
volant_, tail and all.'
Merton was horrified. The secret of the Emu's feathers involved the
father of Lady Fastcastle, of his old friend's wife, in a very
distasteful way. Logan, since his marriage, had never shown any
curiosity in the matter. His was a joyous nature; no one was less of a
self-tormentor.
'Well, old fellow,' said Merton, 'keep your dragon, and I'll keep my
Emu.'
'I won't keep him long, I assure you,' said Logan. 'Only for a day or
two, I dare say; then you'll know; sooner perhaps. But, for excellent
reasons, I asked Bude and Lady Bude to say nothing about the
hallucination of these second-sighted Highland fishers. I have a plan. I
think we shall run in the kidnappers; keep your pecker up. You shall be
in it!'
With this promise, and with Logan's jovial confidence (he kept breaking
into laughter as he went) Merton had to be satisfied, though in no humour
for laughing.
'I'm working up to my _denouement_.' Logan said. 'Tremendously
dramatic! You shall be on all through; I am keeping the fat for you,
Merton. It is no bad thing for a young man to render the highest
possible services to a generous millionaire, especially in the
circumstances.'
'You're rather patronising,' said Merton, a little hurt.
'No, no,' said Logan. 'I have played second fiddle to you often, do let
me take command this time--or, at all events, wait till you see my plot
unfolded. Then you can take your part, or leave it alone, or modify to
taste. Nothing can be fairer.'
Merton admitted that these proposals were loyal, and worthy of their old
and tried friendship.
'_Un dragon volant_, flying over the empty sea!' said Logan. 'The
Highlanders beat the world for fantastic visions, and the Islanders beat
the Highlanders. But, look here, am I too inquisitive? The night when
we first thought of the Disentanglers you said there was--somebody. But
I understood that she and you were of one mind, and that only parents and
poverty were in the way. And now, from what you told me this morning at
Inchnadampf, it seems that there is no understanding between you and
_this_ lady, Miss Macrae.'
'There is none,' said Merton. 'I tried to keep my feelings to myself--I'm
ashamed to say that I doubt if I succeeded.'
'Any chance?' asked Logan, putting his arm in Merton's in the old
schoolboy way.
'I would rather not speak about it,' said Merton. 'I had meant to go
myself on the Monday. Then came the affair of Sunday night,' and he
sighed.
'Then the somebody before was another somebody?'
'Yes,' said Merton, turning rather red.
'Men have died and the worms have eaten them, but not for love,' muttered
Logan.