Evidently our shrewd companion suspected that I had either made a mistake or deliberately told him an untruth, but I was quite ready for him. I had no time to consider the ethics of the matter. I was out to obey what I took to be my instructions, and obey them I did. "Oh, there are quite a lot of ways of getting there," I replied airily; "but perhaps the easiest would be to take the motor-boat to Corran and walk up the Arnisdale, or follow the road to Corran and then up the river. Miss McLeod has her own ways of getting about this country, though, and she may even know some way of avoiding the difficulties of the Sgriol and the other intervening mountains." Hilderman looked at me in considerable surprise for a moment. "You seem to know the district pretty well yourself, Mr. Ewart," he remarked. "Well, I ought to," I explained; "I was born in Glenmore." "Oh, I didn't know that," he murmured; "that accounts for it, then." And at that moment we heard the train approaching, and we hurried into the station to meet our respective visitors. "Fact or fancy?" asked Garnesk in an undertone as we strolled down the platform, Hilderman having hurried on ahead. "Fancy," I replied. "I took it you wanted me to avoid giving him the precise details." "Yes, I did," he laughed. "But you certainly made them precise enough. It is better to be careful how you explain these things to strangers." "Why?" I asked. "If we suspected Hilderman I should be inclined to agree with you that we should feed him up with lies; and if you think it will help us at all to suspect him I'm on at once. But as we both feel that his disposition is friendly and that we have no cause to doubt him, what is your reason for putting him off the scent every time? I know you well enough by this time to feel sure that you haven't been making these cryptic remarks for the sake of hearing yourself speak." "Here's the train," he said. "I'll tell you later." I looked along the carriages for Dennis, but I had evidently missed him, for as I turned back along the platform I found him looking round for me, standing amid the _melee_ of tourists and fisherfolk, keepers and valets, sportsmen and dogs, which is typical of the West Highland terminus in early August, and which seemed little affected by the fact that a state of war existed between Great Britain and the only nation in the world which was prepared for hostilities. "Well, old man," I greeted him as we shook hands heartily. "You got my wire, of course. I hope you had a decent journey." "Rather, old chap, I should think I did!" he replied warmly. "Slept like a turnip through the beastly parts, and woke up for the bit from Dumbarton on. I also had the luck to remember what you said about the breakfast and took the precaution of wiring for it. Here I am, and as fit as a fiddle."