“What’s the joke?” asked Hilderman.
“This,” I said, pointing to a large carbon transparency of a mountain under snow, which hung in the window on the north side. “You’ve no idea how this has been annoying us over at Invermalluch.”
“How?” asked Dennis.
“It swings about in the breeze,” I replied, “and it reflects the light and catches everybody’s eye. It’s a very beautiful photograph, Mr. Hilderman, but, like many human beings, it’s exceedingly unpopular owing to the position it holds.”
“A thousand apologies, Mr. Ewart,” said the American. “It shall be removed at once.”
“Oh, not at all!” I protested. “Surely you are entitled to hang a positive of a photograph in your window without receiving a protest from neighbours who live nearly three miles away.”
“That’s Invermalluch Lodge, then, across the water,” Dennis asked.
“Yes,” I replied, and we forgot about the transparency, which remained in undisputed possession of a pitch to which it was certainly entitled. We sat and smoked, and looked out at the mountains of Skye and the wonderful panorama of sea and loch, with an occasional glance at the gurgling waterfall at our feet, and presently I picked up a copy of an illustrated paper which was lying at my hand. I turned the pages idly, and threw a cursory glance at the photographs of the week’s brides, and the latest efforts of the theatrical press agents, and I noticed, without thinking anything of the fact, that one page had been roughly torn out. I was about to remark that probably the most interesting or amusing picture in the whole paper had been accidentally destroyed, when Fuller leaned across Dennis, and took the paper out of my hands.
“Don’t insult Mr. Hilderman’s precious view by reading the paper in his smoking-room, Mr Ewart,” he said, with a loud laugh. “As a Highlander you should have more tact than that.”
Hilderman turned round, and looked from one to other of us.