“Then where is he?”
“Staying at the hotel over at St. Fillans, at the other end of the loch, under the name of Gregory. Fortunately his aunt has only recently bought this place, so he has never been here before. She is extremely kind to me.”
“Then you often see Drury—eh?”
“Oh, yes, we spend each day together. Dick comes over by the eleven o’clock train. It is such fun—much better than Brighton.”
“But the London police are searching everywhere for you both,” I said.
“This is a long way from London,” she replied with a bright laugh; “they are not likely to find us, nor are those bitter enemies of ours.”
“What enemies?”
“The revolutionists. There is a desperate plot against me. Of that I am absolutely convinced,” she said as she sank upon the rustic garden seat beneath the tree. The sunny view over loch and woodland was delightful, and the pretty garden and fir wood surrounding were full of birds singing their morning song.
“But you told neither Hartwig nor Dmitri of your fears,” I remarked. “Why not?” and I looked straight into her beautiful face, lit by the brilliant sunshine.
“Well, I will tell you, Uncle Colin,” she said, leaning back, putting her neat little brown shoe forth from the hem of her white gown, and folding her bare arms as she turned to me. “Dick one day discovered that wherever we went we were followed by Dmitri, and, as you may imagine, I had considerable difficulty in explaining his constant presence. But Dick loves me, and hence believes every word I tell him. He—”