'You oughtn't to,' I said. 'You really oughtn't, you know.
Scorching up hills and then doubling up a mountain are not good for
your time of life.'

He raised the cap of my flask in solemn salutation. 'Your very
good health.' Then he smacked his lips, and had several cupfuls of
water from the spring.

'You will haf come from Achranich way, maybe?' he said in his
soft sing-song, having at last found his breath.

'Just so. Fine weather for the birds, if there was anybody to
shoot them.'

'Ah, no. There will be few shots fired today, for there are no
gentlemen left in Morvern. But I wass asking you, if you come
from Achranich, if you haf seen anybody on the road.'

From his pocket he extricated a brown envelope and a bulky
telegraph form. 'Will you read it, sir, for I haf forgot my spectacles?'

It contained a description of one Brand, a South African and a
suspected character, whom the police were warned to stop and
return to Oban. The description wasn't bad, but it lacked any one
good distinctive detail. Clearly the policeman took me for an innocent
pedestrian, probably the guest of some moorland shooting-box,
with my brown face and rough tweeds and hobnailed shoes.

I frowned and puzzled a little. 'I did see a fellow about three