“Oh no, ma’am, Mrs Ablewhite will be gratified to think there’s somebody in the Castle with an appetite.”

In the Yellow Drawing-room Chester Royde recounted his adventure:

“I’d noticed these hikers following me around on the field, and it got my goat, but Ben Nevis asked me to remember it was a special occasion and not to take any notice. So after a while I walked back to the Castle. Everything was pretty quiet. I went into the Great Hall and poured myself out a highball. And then I felt I’d let myself be annoyed unnecessarily by these hikers and I decided I’d stroll back to the field. Well, I went out, and the next thing I knew was my head was in a sack and I was being run along as if I was a bad man being run out of a mining-camp. I think I know who the guy was that got his hand around the back of my neck, and believe me, I’m gunning for him till I get him, and if I don’t change the shape of that chin of his into something the nose above it won’t recognize I’ll resign my blood-brotherhood with the Carroway Indians.

“Well, they tied me up and gagged me and left me sitting in that dungeon, and if a mouse hadn’t run up inside my kilt and made me jump and bust the gag I’d be sitting in that dungeon now.”

“Dreadful!” Mrs MacDonald boomed dolorously.

“That’s what happened to one of the young women hikers,” said Mr Fletcher. “There must be quite an appreciable number of mice in that dungeon.”

“You’ve never had a mouse run up your leg, Mr Fletcher?” the released captive enquired.

“No, I can’t say I ever have,” the chaplain replied. “On one occasion many years ago when I was taking duty for the Bishop of South-east Europe at Taormina a scorpion got into my tooth-glass, which was very unpleasant, but …”

“Well, I always did like cats,” said Chester. “But when I go back to the States I’m going to found the Chester Royde home for stray cats. And Carrie, it’ll be some home.”

Chapter 16

BUCKHAM’S CAMPAIGN

BEN NEVIS ALLOWED himself to be dissuaded next day from attacking the hikers, apparently in deference to the Sabbath, actually because it was not yet known where their camp was, and he felt disinclined to indulge in vain reconnaissance after the long day of the Gathering and the restless night of searching for his kidnapped guest.

“I do often get a little irritated by our Highland Sunday,” he admitted, “but there’s something to be said for it after a day like yesterday. All the same, if they want to have a quiet day once a week I wish they wouldn’t drag religion into it. Religion always makes for bitterness. Don’t you agree with me, Mr Fletcher?”