The door was opened by a one-armed butler who bore all the marks
of the old regular soldier. Dickson produced a card and asked to
see his master on urgent business. Sir Archibald was at home,
he was told, and had just finished breakfast. The two were led
into a large bare chamber which had all the chill and mustiness of a
bachelor's drawing-room. The butler returned, and said Sir Archibald
would see him. "I'd better go myself first and prepare the way, Mem,"
Dickson whispered, and followed the man across the hall.

He found himself ushered into a fair-sized room where a bright
fire was burning. On a table lay the remains of breakfast,
and the odour of food mingled pleasantly with the scent of peat.
The horns and heads of big game, foxes' masks, the model of a
gigantic salmon, and several bookcases adorned the walls,
and books and maps were mixed with decanters and cigar-boxes on
the long sideboard. After the wild out of doors the place seemed
the very shrine of comfort. A young man sat in an arm-chair by the
fire with a leg on a stool; he was smoking a pipe, and reading the
Field, and on another stool at his elbow was a pile of new novels.
He was a pleasant brown-faced young man, with remarkably smooth
hair and a roving humorous eye.

"Come in, Mr. McCunn. Very glad to see you. If, as I take it,
you're the grocer, you're a household name in these parts.
I get all my supplies from you, and I've just been makin' inroads
on one of your divine hams. Now, what can I do for you?"

"I'm very proud to hear what you say, Sir Archibald. But I've not
come on business. I've come with the queerest story you ever heard