Alec could not help smiling at this pleasant portrait of Mrs. Lingan, junior, for Martin had a very dry and humorous way of saying things.
"I don't like the idea of sneaking off without a bit of a row with them," said Alec, who was still longing for vengeance; "but I suppose that we must as they are so strong. If I could only have it out with Starlight I shouldn't so much mind."
"You must look on that as a pleasure deferred. Now, then, have you got that letter ready?"
"Yes. I have told them to try to communicate with me through you. I've said that to-morrow night at eleven o'clock you will be on the track that leads from the Dixieville road to Lingan's. I have said what you are like. I expect old Macleod, our manager, will come, and you and he may be able to concoct a plan. I don't think I can say any more."
"Come on, then."
"Will you do it?"
"Do it! of course."
Alec called Como, who was sitting on his haunches in the sun idly snapping at the flies which buzzed about him, and with a bit of frayed string that Crosby produced from his pocket, he tied the all-important letter round the neck of the dog. He folded the paper as small as possible, and placed it underneath the dog's neck, and hid the string in the hair of his neck, where it was longer and thicker than elsewhere.
"I don't think Starlight will see that."
"Not unless he stops him."