“Oh no, it’s all political. It isn’t kidnapping the way we kidnap in the United States. Oh no, money doesn’t come into it. It’s a political gesture. Well, what I want you to do, Myrtle, is to say you’d like to go for a walk with me to-morrow morning instead of going out with the guns. I’m afraid if I go off alone again I’ll make Ben Nevis suspicious. Will you do this for me, Myrtle?”

“Why, of course I will.”

“Oh, that’s lovely of you. But when you see this young man—these young men—I’m sure you’ll be just as anxious as I am that nothing should happen to him—to them. Well, I’m not going to keep you awake any longer. Chester’ll be wondering where I am.”

“Don’t tell him you’ve heard he’s going to get a kilt.”

“Why, certainly I won’t tell him, Myrtle. You will come with me to-morrow?”

“Sure.”

“Oh, perhaps I ought to have told you that one of these boys is a poet. Well, honey, I won’t keep you any longer. Sweet dreams.”

Carrie blew a kiss to her sister-in-law and went back to her own room.

“What have you been talking about?” her husband asked from a mahogany four-poster even larger than the one which held Myrtle. “I wanted to tell you something before I went to sleep.”

“What is it, Chester?”

“I’ve fallen for your country, Carrie. They know how to live up here. I’m going to buy a little place in Scotland.”

“Why, that’s lovely news, Chester.”

“Yes, and Kilwhillie’s going to show us a lodge of his that he’s anxious to sell. Of course, he says he isn’t so anxious, but that’s hooey. Knocknacolly it’s called. About ten miles from Glenbogle across the hills, but nearer thirty by road.”

“When are we going, Chester?”

“He’s going to drive us over to-morrow morning.”

“To-morrow morning?”

“What’s the matter with to-morrow morning?”

“Well, I’d promised to take Myrtle for a walk. I thought you’d be out shooting.”

“You can take Myrtle for a walk any time. We’ll be back by the afternoon. Ben Nevis is going to have a drive for some Scottish Nationalists, whatever they are, and throw them into a loch. But he’s coming with us in the morning.”

Chapter 7

KNOCKNACOLLY

IN SPITE OF having been the last of the party to leave the Great Hall of Glenbogle on the previous night Ben Nevis and Kilwhillie were the first to appear in the dining-room next morning for breakfast. They ladled generous helpings of porridge into their bowls and walked about blowing it.

“Another good day, Hugh,” Ben Nevis observed enthusiastically.

“Yes, and it looks like lasting.”

“This is the eighth consecutive day without rain. Must be a record for August I should think.”