"It might furnish me with a clue," she exclaimed quickly. Yes, try and discover who she is."
"Who was the woman you expected to find?"
"A friend — a very dear friend."
"Will you not tell me her name?" I inquired.
"No, it would be unfair to her," she responded decisively, an answer which to me was particularly tantalising.
On we plodded in silence, our thoughts too full for words. Was it not strange that the mysterious yachtsman should be her lover, and stranger still that recognizing me he should have escaped, not only from Scotland, but away to the Continent?
Was not that, in itself, evidence of guilt and fear?
It was quite dark when I took leave of my bright little companion, who, tired out and yet uncomplaining, pressed my hand and wished me good fortune in my investigations.
"I shall await you to-morrow afternoon. Call and tell me everything, won't you?"
I promised, and then she disappeared into the great stable-yard behind the castle, while I went on down the dark road and then struck across the open fields to my uncle's house.
At half-past nine that night I pulled up the dog-cart before the chief police-station in Dumfries, and alighting at once sought the big, fair Highlander, Mackenzie, with whom I had had the consultation on the previous day.
When we were seated in his room beneath the hissing gas-jet, I related my adventure and the result of my investigation.
