who had no bicycle. Perhaps some woman who was conspicuously late for
the train. Women were the chief cyclists nowadays in country places.

Then he forgot about the bicycle and twisted his neck to watch the station.
It was less than a mile off now, and they had no time to spare, for away
to the south among the hummocks of the bog he saw the smoke of the train
coming from Auchenlochan. The postman also saw it and whipped up his
beast into a clumsy canter. Dickson, always nervous being late for trains,
forced his eyes away and regarded again the road behind him. Suddenly the
cyclist had become quite plain--a little more than a mile behind--a man,
and pedalling furiously in spite of the stiff ascent. It could only be
one person--Leon. He must have discovered their visit to the House
yesterday and be on the way to warn Dobson. If he reached the station
before the train, there would be no journey to Glasgow that day for
one respectable citizen.

Dickson was in a fever of impatience and fright. He dared not abjure
the postman to hurry, lest Dobson should turn his head and descry his
colleague. But that ancient man had begun to realize the shortness
of time and was urging the cart along at a fair pace, since they were
now on the flatter shelf of land which carried the railway.

Dickson kept his eyes fixed on the bicycle and his teeth shut tight
on his lower lip. Now it was hidden by the last dip of hill; now it
emerged into view not a quarter of a mile behind, and its rider gave
vent to a shrill call. Luckily the innkeeper did not hear, for at
that moment with a jolt the cart pulled up at the station door,
accompanied by the roar of the incoming train.

Dickson whipped down from the back seat and seized the solitary porter.