“I don’t expect you know who I am,” Carrie said, smiling, she felt hopelessly, at the wall-eye.

“No, I don’t know who you are,” the gaunt man agreed, and the assertion of his ignorance must have carried with it an indication of hostility, for the dog growled again.

“Tha è blath,” Carrie observed.

“I don’t know that name at all,” the gaunt man replied.

“You’re not a Gaelic speaker then?”

“Are you a Gaelic speaker?”

“I’m learning to speak it.”

“Were you speaking to me in Gaelic then?”

“Yes, I said ‘it’s warm.’ Tha è blath.”

“When you are after saying it in English first I know what you are after saying in Gaelic. Yes, it is warm. It’s very warm. But camping is not allowed here.”

She was up against that wall-eye again.

“But I told you, I’m not camping here. I’m staying at the Castle. I’m staying with Ben Nevis. I suppose you are one of his keepers?”

“Yes, I am one of the keepers. And you are staying at Glenbogle Castle?”

“I certainly am.”

The wall-eye contemplated the outspread tent for a moment, and then fixed its opaque glance on Carrie.

“If you are staying at Glenbogle Castle, why are you camping here?”

“But I tell you I am not camping here.”

“That is a camping-tent.”

“Yes, that’s a camping-tent.”

“If you are not camping here, why do you have a camping-tent?”

Carrie was in a quandary. If she said the tent belonged to a friend to whom she was taking it, this gaunt, wall-eyed man was capable of following her until she reached the cave, and that might make things awkward for Alan Macmillan.

“Well, I don’t know if Ben Nevis would approve of one of his guests being questioned like this by one of his keepers, but the reason why I have this tent with me is because I wanted something to sit on while I was eating my lunch.”

The gaunt man shook his head.