"Rob," said Muckle John, making way for him to pass, "will you step inside, for if I am not mistaken there is one who will be pleased to see ye."
Without a word, but anxious to know to whom Muckle John could refer, Rob entered the cave. For a moment the darkness of the place made him think he was alone. Then of a sudden he made out the form of a man lying upon the floor; and with a quick fear he knelt down and recognized Archibald Cameron, bound hand and foot.
It took Rob but a couple of slashes with his skian dhu and Cameron was free of his bonds.
Sitting up he groaned and surveyed Rob with a whimsical smile.
"This is a queer manner of hospitality," said he. "If ye had mentioned the name o' the gentleman you were serving I would have taken the hint kindly."
"I serving?" broke in Rob, "I do not understand."
Cameron shrugged his shoulders cynically.
"Maybe ye do not remember the letter," he said very politely, "maybe ye are not Rob Fraser?"
"Dr. Cameron," replied Rob, "this is no time for quarrelling. I know of no letter, and I am a prisoner like yourself. We are both in the hands of Muckle John."
"Muckle John! So that's how the wind blows, eh? Oh, I begin to see. Poor Rob, you're aye the scapegoat. Muckle John, indeed!"