off to Mexico at once. You've got to find some way of obliging
an old friend, Mr. McNair."

Mr. McNair scratched his head. "I don't see how I can sell you one.
But I'll tell you what I'll do--I'll lend you one. It belongs to my
nephew, Peter Tait, and has been lying in a drawer ever since he
came back from the front. He has no use for it now that he's
a placed minister."

So Dickson bestowed in the pockets of his water-proof a service
revolver and fifty cartridges, and bade his cab take him to the shop
in Mearns Street. For a moment the sight of the familiar place
struck a pang to his breast, but he choked down unavailing regrets.
He ordered a great hamper of foodstuffs--the most delicate kind of
tinned goods, two perfect hams, tongues, Strassburg pies, chocolate,
cakes, biscuits, and, as a last thought, half a dozen bottles of
old liqueur brandy. It was to be carefully packed, addressed to
Mrs. Morran, Dalquharter Station, and delivered in time for him to
take down by the 7.33 train. Then he drove to the terminus and
dined with something like a desperate peace in his heart.

On this occasion he took a first-class ticket, for he wanted to be alone.
As the lights began to be lit in the wayside stations and the clear
April dusk darkened into night, his thoughts were sombre yet resigned.
He opened the window and let the sharp air of the Renfrewshire uplands
fill the carriage. It was fine weather again after the rain, and a
bright constellation--perhaps Dougal's friend O'Brien--hung in the
western sky. How happy he would have been a week ago had he been
starting thus for a country holiday! He could sniff the faint scent
of moor-burn and ploughed earth which had always been his first reminder