CHAPTER IX. THE MYSTERY OF SHOLTO. We discussed our discovery pretty thoroughly on the way back to the house, and both agreed that it left no doubt upon one aspect of this strange affair--the man who stole Sholto was no ordinary thief. The General was standing on the verandah, looking about for us, as we came up the beach path. I told him of Garnesk's deductions and their interesting result, and the old man was greatly affected. "I never dreamt I should live to see the old place abused in this shocking manner," he grunted. "'Pon me soul, it's--it's begad disgraceful. I've lived here all my life, on and off, and I've never been troubled with anything like this, scarcely so much as a tramp even. I hope to God it'll soon be over, that's all." "Thanks to Mr. Garnesk, we're moving along in the right direction," I tried to reassure him. "And we have the satisfaction, in one way, of being able to tell Myra that Sholto is still alive, even if we don't know where he is." "Seems to me, Ronald," said the General, "you don't know that, or anything about the poor beast, except that he has been stolen, and probably taken away in a boat. Judging by Mr. Garnesk's theory, they probably threw him overboard in deep water." "No one who intended destroying a dog would take the trouble to wrench the name-plate off his collar," I pointed out. "The dog is alive, and not unconscious. They need his collar to keep him in hand, but they are afraid the plate might give them away. Mr. Garnesk is right, I'm sure, and if we find the thief we find the cause for Myra's terrible misfortune." "Where do you imagine they can have taken him to then? Seems to me we're getting some pretty queer neighbours." "That is just what we have to find out," said Garnesk, "and I for one will not rest until I do." "'Pon my soul, my dear chap," said the old man warmly, "it's very good of you to take so much interest in the affairs of total strangers. It is, indeed, thundering good of you." "Not at all, General," laughed the visitor. "If you spent your life trying to cure fussy ladies of imaginary eye trouble, without putting it to them that their livers are out of order, you'd welcome this as a very appetising antidote." "Talking about appetites," his host suggested, "who says breakfast?" "I fancy we both do," I answered, and we turned indoors. During breakfast Garnesk announced his determination to devote as much of the day as necessary to an examination of Myra, and then catch the evening train from Mallaig, but the girl herself rose in rebellion at this immediately. "You mustn't do anything of the sort," she declared emphatically. "Daddy, tell him he's not to. The idea of coming up here, and looking at me, and then going away again! It's ridiculous!" "I assure you, it is ample reward," declared the oculist gallantly, and everybody laughed at the frank compliment.