The gillies duly covered me, and I did not like the look
of their wavering barrels. They were obviously as surprised as myself.

I had about half a second to make my plans. I advanced with a very
stiff air, and asked him what the devil he meant. No Lowland Scots
for me now. My tone was that of an adjutant of a Guards' battalion.

My inquisitor was a tall man in an ulster, with a green felt hat on
his small head. He had a lean, well-bred face, and very choleric blue
eyes. I set him down as a soldier, retired, Highland regiment or
cavalry, old style.

He produced a telegraph form, like the policeman.

'Middle height - strongly built - grey tweeds - brown hat -
speaks with a colonial accent - much sunburnt. What's your name, sir?'

I did not reply in a colonial accent, but with the hauteur of the
British officer when stopped by a French sentry. I asked him again
what the devil he had to do with my business. This made him
angry and he began to stammer.

'I'll teach you what I have to do with it. I'm a deputy-lieutenant
of this county, and I have Admiralty instructions to watch the
coast. Damn it, sir, I've a wire here from the Chief Constable
describing you. You're Brand, a very dangerous fellow, and we
want to know what the devil you're doing here.'

As I looked at his wrathful eye and lean head, which could not