They entered the hotel, but Dick stopped as they were passing the bar.
"We've all had a shock," he said; "and if you feel you'd like a drink, don't mind me. You needn't be afraid of setting me a bad example – I don't want anything."
Andrew smiled.
"Nor do I. Sometimes you're a very thoughtful fellow, Dick."
CHAPTER VIII
THE ROWAN'S LIGHT
Dick's cuts were not deep and he joined his companions at supper. One of the windows was open and the smell of peat smoke came in, while the noise of Ewes water running down the glen mingled pleasantly with the bleating of sheep. The room, however, was illuminated by electric light and a row of sepia drawings hung on the wall.
"There's something distinctive about the Border," Whitney remarked; "but there's one thing that strikes me. In old English cities – Chester, for example – there are streets that look as they did in Queen Elizabeth's reign; but the Scottish towns you've shown me might have been built forty years ago."
Andrew smiled.
"The reason lies in our national character. We're utilitarian and don't allow sentiment to interfere with progress. As soon as a building gets out of date, we pull it down. Our past lives in the race's memory and we don't need to keep it embodied in stone."
He turned to Dick, who had been unusually quiet.
"It's lucky you didn't get worse hurt. Did you see the car's number?"
Dick hesitated a moment.
"No-o. The plate was covered with mud."
"But there has been no rain," Whitney objected. "I was near the gate when the driver swerved, and I couldn't see any reason for his doing so."
"He may not have noticed the loose stones until he was close to them, and then lost control of the steering because he was startled; or perhaps the wheels skidded on the loose metal," Andrew suggested.
"It's curious," Whitney persisted, "because if the fellow's nerve had given way he would have gone over the motorcycle and into the gate. Anyhow, he didn't lose control, because he straightened her up the moment Andrew threw you back."
"His nerve did not give way," said Dick.
Andrew looked hard at him.
"You know something. What is it, Dick?"
"I know the car," Dick said grimly; "but it isn't nice to think your own friends came near killing you."
"You're sure?"
"Positive. I thought I recognized the hum she makes on the top gear, and when I was close behind them at the bottom of the glen, I saw the tail-lamp had a cracked glass and a dinge in the top. It isn't a coincidence that our lamp's like that. I remember when Watson dropped it."
"Staffer certainly wouldn't lose control of his steering."
"No," said Dick; "he's as steady as a rock. So's Watson. You don't often find a lowland Scot of his type jumpy."
Whitney lighted a cigarette and leaned back, watching the others.
"Staffer was going to Glasgow," Andrew argued.
"Yes; the hydraulic ram that pumps our water had broken down and he meant to see the makers. He told me he might not be back for a few days."
"But would he return by Edinburgh? Had he any business there?"
"None that I know of; we deal with Glasgow. I wanted him to come up to Edinburgh not long ago, but he wouldn't. Said he didn't know anybody in the place and there was nothing to do."
"After all, you may have been mistaken about the car."
"Oh, no," said Dick; "but we'll talk about something else. I don't like to think that Staffer nearly finished me – and he wouldn't feel happy about it. Of course he didn't recognize us; and, on the whole, I think we'd better not mention it to him."
"I agree with you," Whitney said; and they planned to ship the damaged machine to Hawick and to walk back across the hills.
On their return to Appleyard, Whitney watched Staffer closely when Dick explained that they had been delayed by an accident in the glen at Teviot-head. He showed only a polite interest in the matter, and when Whitney talked about Edinburgh, he remarked that he found the city disappointing and seldom visited it.
A few days later, they all sat on the terrace one calm evening when Watson came back with the car and gave Dick and Staffer some letters.
"From Murray," Dick announced when he had opened his. "They're going to search the Colvend country next Thursday, and he suggests that we might like to join, though he hints that he's not allowed to give us much information."
"What does he expect to find?" Staffer asked. His tone expressed indifference, but Whitney suspected that it covered a keen interest.
"He doesn't say. Somebody working a wireless installation, I imagine."
"And is Thursday particularly suitable for that kind of thing?"
"It's Dumfries' early-closing day. They can get a lot of motorcyclists then. Murray states that the coast and moss-roads will be watched."
"You ought to go," Elsie interposed. "Mr. Whitney would enjoy a day upon the heather."
"An opportunity for combining a pleasant excursion with a patriotic duty!" Staffer remarked. "Well, the high ground from Bengairn to Susie Hill will need some searching. No doubt, they'll push across the moors toward Black Beast?"
"Murray doesn't say, but it's probable. I don't know whether the military authorities have the spy mania; but if there is any ground for suspicion, it can do no harm to draw the Galloway moors. What do you think, Andrew?"
"I'd try the hills farther east."
"About Eskdale, of course?" Staffer said with ironical humor.
"Well," Andrew replied, "I don't claim much strategical knowledge, but if we take it for granted that a hostile force could be landed on our east coast – "
"Rosyth's being a naval station would make that difficult. But go on."
Beginning rather awkwardly, Andrew worked out a supposititious plan of campaign, and to Whitney, who had just been over the ground, it seemed a very good one. The scheme he outlined certainly appeared practical; and Whitney saw that Staffer was more interested than he pretended, and that his objections were designed to draw Andrew on. Both showed a knowledge of military needs and history; and when Staffer mentioned Cromwell's retreat on Dunbar, Whitney thought Andrew's defense of his favorite route across, instead of around, the Lammermuirs was good. He noted that Staffer did not claim as much local knowledge; indeed, he thought he was careful not to do so.
"I'm not convinced that we have much to fear, but you have worked the thing out very well," he said at last. "Have you thought that the War Office might find something to interest them in your views?"
Andrew flushed.
"They're probably bothered enough by amateur strategists," he replied. "Of course, I may be all wrong; but if there really did seem any need for it, I'd try to get somebody with influence to put my ideas before them."
Staffer folded a letter he had been reading, and looked at his watch.
"I must send off a telegram," he said, and left them.
"Well, Andrew, are we going on this spy hunt?" Whitney asked. It sounded promising to him.
"I could take the boat to Rough Firth. Then we might go on to Wigtown Bay, where you could see your people. Will you come, Dick?"
"Yes – as far as Rough Firth; but I don't know about the rest. Small boat sailing needs an acquired taste. You have to get used to eating half-cooked food and sleeping among wet sails. On my last cruise, drops from a deck-beam fell on my face all night when it rained. Andrew's hardier than I am, and no doubt truer to the old strain; but while the Annandale Johnstones did many reckless things, they had generally sense enough to stick to dry land."
They