Afterwards he rejoined me, and as we remounted into the car I saw that his face wore a dark, puzzled expression.
"Anything wrong?" I inquired, as we sped away through the firs towards Loch Alvie and Aviemore.
"No," he replied. Then, after a pause, he asked, "You once used to ride a motor-cycle, didn't you, Jack?"
I replied in the affirmative; whereupon he said that it would be necessary for me to hire one, an observation which somewhat mystified me. And for the next hour we roared along over the loose, uneven road through Aviemore, where the chief hotel was, of course, closed, and on over Dulnan Bridge, that paradise of the summer tourist; then turning to the right past the post office, until we were soon "honk-honking" up the wide main street of Grantown.
Here in summer and autumn the place is alive with tourists; but in winter, with its tearing winds and gusty snowstorms, the little place presents a very different appearance. The excellent "Grant Arms," standing back from the road at the further end of the town, is, however, one of the few first-class hotels in the Highlands open all the year round. And here we put up, both of us glad to obtain shelter from the sleet which, since the twilight had faded, had been cutting our faces.
While I sat before the big smoking-room fire with a cigarette, after we had been to our rooms to remove the mud from our faces, Ray was bustling about the hotel, eagerly scanning the visitors' book, among other things.
Our quest was a decidedly vague one, and as I sat staring into the flames I confess I entertained serious misgivings.
When I went forth into the hall to find my friend, I was told that he had gone out.
A quarter of an hour later he returned, saying:
"I've seen a garage along the street; come with me and hire a motor-cycle. You'll probably want it."