‘Of course,’ said Stuart. ‘It’s a really good short cut. You’ll see, Bertie.’

The continued on their way. The weather had changed, now, and an unseasonal haar rolled in from the sea. This cast a mantle of white over everything, reducing visibility so that they could see very little beyond the next tree.

‘I think we might be lost,’ said Bertie. ‘Do you know where we are, Daddy?’

‘Have faith in your father, Bertie,’ said Stuart. ‘Any moment now we’ll find ourselves at Flotterstone.’

But they did not. They now found themselves gaining ground, and the path seemed to be changing direction.

‘Shouldn’t we turn back?’ asked Bertie. ‘Wouldn’t that be safer?’

‘You should never turn back, Bertie,’ said Stuart. ‘What did Harry Lauder say? Keep right on to the end of the road. That’s what he said, Bertie.’

‘But Mr Lauder was probably on the right road in the first place,’ said Bertie. ‘It’s all right to keep right on to the end of the road if you’re on the right road. Otherwise, it isn’t.’

76. A Real Boy’s Room

Notwithstanding his son’s qualification of the otherwise sound advice of the late Harry Lauder, Stuart insisted that he and Bertie continue along the path they were on. They were now gaining height – another reason, thought Bertie, why they should turn back; this path, he felt, was leading them further into an unknown part of the Pentlands from which they might well not extricate themselves before darkness. And the light, as it was, was already fading, what with the haar, which had blotted out all sight of the sun, and the hour of day.

‘Is there a mountain rescue team in the Pentlands?’ asked Bertie.

‘Mountain rescue, Bertie? No, I doubt very much if there are any of those people around here. This isn’t the Cairngorms, you know. You find them up in the Cairngorms or places like Glencoe, not the Pentlands.’

Bertie absorbed this information in silence. It did not help his state of mind to think that there was no chance of rescue from what was becoming an increasingly worrying situation. Presumably people lost their way in the Pentlands, and presumably there were people who slipped and sprained their ankle and could not make their way home on their own. Who looked after them? He wondered whether it was the First Morningside Cub Scout Pack. It would certainly give them something to do if they were to be put in charge of the Pentlands, although it would be very dispiriting to be rescued by Olive, he thought. Or Ranald Braveheart Macpherson, for that matter; that would be far worse, as Ranald’s legs looked so thin and spindly and would hardly inspire the victim of a mountaineering accident with any confidence.

The haar was now becoming very thick indeed.