Merton did examine his box, but could not see
that any of the papers had been disarranged. Still, as the receptacle was full of family secrets he did not feel precisely comfortable. Going out on the lawn he met Mr. Macrae, who took him into a retired place and told him what had occurred.
‘I had given the man the strictest orders not to invade the rooms of any of my guests,’ he said; ‘it is too odious.’
The Rev. Mr. Williams being indisposed, dined alone in his room that night; so did Blake, who was still far from well.
The only other incident was that Donald Macdonald and the new gillie, Duncan Mackay, were reported to be ‘lying around in a frightfully dissolute state.’ Donald was a sober man, but Mackay, he explained next morning, proved to be his long lost cousin, hence the revel. Mackay, separately, stated that he had made Donald intoxicated for the purpose of eliciting any guilty secret which he might possess. But whisky had elicited nothing.
On the whole the London detectives had not been entirely a success. Mr. Macrae therefore arranged to send both of them back to Lairg, where they would strike the line, and return to the metropolis.
Merton had casually talked of Logan (Lord Fastcastle) to Mr. Macrae on the previous evening, and mentioned that he was now likely to be at Inchnadampf. Mr. Macrae knew something of Logan, and before he sped the parting detectives, asked Merton whether he thought that he might send a note to Inchnadampf inviting his friend to come and bear him company? Merton gravely said that in such a
crisis as theirs he thought that Logan would be extremely helpful, and that he was a friend of the Budes. Perhaps he himself had better go and pick up Logan and inform him fully as to the mysterious events? As Mr. Gianesi was also expected from London on that day (Thursday) to examine the wireless machine, which had been silent, Mr. Macrae sent off several vehicles, as well as the motor that carried the detectives. Merton drove the tandem himself.
Merton found Logan, with his Spanish bull-dog, Bouncer, loafing outside the hotel door at Inchnadampf. He greeted Merton in a state of suppressed glee; the whole adventure was much to the taste of the scion of Rostalrig. Merton handed him Mr. Macrae’s letter of invitation.
‘Come, won’t I come, rather!’ said Logan.