“Here’s the train,” he said. “I’ll tell you later.”
I looked along the carriages for Dennis, but I had evidently missed him, for as I turned back along the platform I found him looking round for me, standing amid the mêlée of tourists and fisherfolk, keepers and valets, sportsmen and dogs, which is typical of the West Highland terminus in early August, and which seemed little affected by the fact that a state of war existed between Great Britain and the only nation in the world which was prepared for hostilities.
“Well, old man,” I greeted him as we shook hands heartily. “You got my wire, of course. I hope you had a decent journey.”
“Rather, old chap, I should think I did!” he replied warmly. “Slept like a turnip through the beastly parts, and woke up for the bit from Dumbarton on. I also had the luck to remember what you said about the breakfast and took the precaution of wiring for it. Here I am, and as fit as a fiddle.”
“That’s great!” I exclaimed cheerily, for Dennis’s bright attitude had exactly the effect on me that it was intended to have—it made me feel about twenty years younger. “This is Mr. Garnesk, the specialist, who very kindly came from Glasgow to see Myra. Mr. Garnesk—Mr. Burnham.”
The two shook hands, and the oculist suggested lunch. We left the station to go up to the hotel, but we saw Hilderman and his newly arrived friend—the same man who had seen me taking Myra up to London—walking leisurely up the hill in front of us. Garnesk took my arm.
“Steady, my boy, steady,” he said quietly. “We don’t want to be overheard giving the lie to your dainty conversation of a few minutes ago. Isn’t there anywhere else we can lunch, because they are evidently on the same tack?”
“Yes,” I replied, turning back, “there’s the Marine just behind you. That’ll do us well. Then we can come out and talk freely where there’s no chance of our being overheard.”
So we lunched at the Marine Hotel, after which we strolled round the harbour, along the most appalling “road” in the history of civilisation, popularly and well named “the Kyber.” Safely out of earshot, I made a hurried mental précis of the events of the past few days, and gave Dennis the resultant summary as tersely as I could.