"she's my auntie Phemie, my mother's half-sister."

The man turned on Heritage.

"Where are ye for the day?"

"Auchenlochan," said Dickson hastily. He was still determined to
shake the dust of Dalquharter from his feet.

The innkeeper sensibly brightened. "Well, ye'll have a fine walk.
I must go in and see about my own breakfast. Good day to ye, gentlemen."

"That," said Heritage as they entered the village street again,
"is the first step in camouflage, to put the enemy off his guard."

"It was an abominable lie," said Dickson crossly.

"Not at all. It was a necessary and proper ruse de guerre.
It explained why we spent the right here, and now Dobson and
his friends can get about their day's work with an easy mind.
Their suspicions are temporarily allayed, and that will make
our job easier."

"I'm not coming with you."

"I never said you were. By 'we' I refer to myself and the
red-headed boy."

"Mistress, you're my auntie," Dickson informed Mrs. Morran as she
set the porridge on the table. "This gentleman has just been