Arrived at Auchenlochan he went first to the Salutation Hotel,
a pretentious place sacred to golfers. There he engaged a bedroom
for the night and, having certain scruples, paid for it in advance.
He also had some sandwiches prepared which he stowed in his pack,
and filled his flask with whisky. "I'm going home to Glasgow by the
first train in the to-morrow," he told the landlady, "and now I've got
to see a friend. I'll not be back till late." He was assured that
there would be no difficulty about his admittance at any hour,
and directed how to find Mr. Loudon's dwelling.

It was an old house fronting direct on the street, with a
fanlight above the door and a neat brass plate bearing the legend
"Mr. James Loudon, Writer." A lane ran up one side leading
apparently to a garden, for the moonlight showed the dusk of trees.
In front was the main street of Auchenlochan, now deserted save for
a single roysterer, and opposite stood the ancient town house,
with arches where the country folk came at the spring and autumn
hiring fairs. Dickson rang the antiquated bell, and was presently
admitted to a dark hall floored with oilcloth, where a single
gas-jet showed that on one side was the business office and on
the other the living-rooms. Mr. Loudon was at supper, he was told,
and he sent in his card. Almost at once the door at the end
on the left side was flung open and a large figure appeared
flourishing a napkin. "Come in, sir, come in," it cried.
"I've just finished a bite of meat. Very glad to see you.
Here, Maggie, what d'you mean by keeping the gentleman standing
in that outer darkness?"

The room into which Dickson was ushered was small and bright,