"But look here, you know"--it was Byfield at my elbow--"I'm a public character, by George; and this puts me in a devilish awkward position." "So it does," I agreed. "You proclaimed yourself a solitary voyager: and here, to the naked eye, are four of us." "And pray how can I help that? If, at the last moment, a couple of lunatics come rushing in----" "They still leave Sheepshanks to be accounted for." Byfield began to irritate me. I turned to the stowaway. "Perhaps," said I, "Mr. Sheepshanks will explain." "I paid in advance," Mr. Sheepshanks began, eager to seize the opening presented. "The fact is, I'm a married man." "Already at two points you have the advantage of us. Proceed, sir." "You were good enough, just now, to give me your name, Mr.----" "The Vicomte Anne de Keroual de Saint-Yves." "It is a somewhat difficult name to remember." "If that be all, sir, within two minutes you shall have a _memoria technica_ prepared for use during the voyage." Mr. Sheepshanks harked back. "I am a married man, and--d'ye see?--Mrs. Sheepshanks, as you might say, has no sympathy with ballooning. She was a Guthrie of Dumfries." "Which accounts for it, to be sure," said I. "To me, sir, on the contrary, aerostatics have long been an alluring study. I might even, Mr. ----, I might even, I say, term it the passion of my life." His mild eyes shone behind their glasses. "I remember Vincent Lunardi, sir. I was present in Heriot's Gardens when he made an ascension there in October '85. He came down at Cupar. The Society of Gentlemen Golfers at Cupar presented him with an address; and at Edinburgh he was admitted Knight Companion of the Beggar's Benison, a social company, or (as I may say) crew, since defunct. A thin-faced man, sir. He wore a peculiar bonnet, if I may use the expression, very much cocked up behind. The shape became fashionable. He once pawned his watch with me, sir; that being my profession. I regret to say he redeemed it subsequently: otherwise I might have the pleasure of showing it to you. O yes, the theory of ballooning has long been a passion with me. But in deference to Mrs. Sheepshanks I have abstained from the actual practice--until to-day. To tell you the truth, my wife believes me to be brushing off the cobwebs in the Kyles of Bute." "_Are_ there any cobwebs in the Kyles of Bute?" asked Dalmahoy, in a tone unnaturally calm. "A figure of speech, sir--as one might say, holiday-keeping there. I paid Mr. Byfield five pounds in advance. I have his receipt. And the stipulation was that I should be concealed in the car and make the ascension with him alone." "Are we then to take it, sir, that our company offends you?" I demanded. He made haste to disclaim. "Not at all: decidedly not in the least. But the chances were for less agreeable associates." I bowed. "And a bargain's a bargain," he wound up. "So it is," said I. "Byfield, hand Mr. Sheepshanks back his five pounds."