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Updated: June 24, 2025
When I was taking a walk the other night your Belgian wouldn't let me into the policies, but I went down the glen what's that they call it? the Garple Dean I got round the back where the old ruin stands and I had a good look at the House. I tell you there was somebody in it." "It would be Spittal, who acts as caretaker." "It was not. It was a woman. I saw her on the verandah."
Haste ye back, Mem, and be sure I'll tak' guid care o' your leddy cousin." The proper way to the Mains of Garple was either by the station and the Ayr road, or by the Auchenlochan highway, branching off half a mile beyond the Garple bridge.
He delayed no longer, but hurried down the side street by which the north road leaves the town. He had crossed the bridge of Lochan and was climbing the steep ascent which led to the heathy plateau separating that stream from the Garple before he had got his mind quite clear on the case.
"They were hunting me." "Mr. Heritage has gone to bide in the Hoose. They were watchin' the Garple Dean, so I took him round by the Laver foot and up the rocks. He's a souple yin, yon. We fund a road up the rocks and got in by the verandy. Did ye ken that the lassie had a pistol? Well, she has, and it seems that Mr.
I doot they've gotten on our tracks, for it was lockit aye, and wedged from the inside." Dickson brightened. Was the insane venture off? "For a wee bit I was fair beat. But I mindit that the lassie was allowed to walk in a kind o' a glass hoose on the side farthest away from the Garple. That was where she was singin' yest'reen. So I reckonissinced in that direction, and I fund a queer place."
Above the noise of the wind came the roar of the flooded Garple and the fret of the harbour, and far beyond all the crashing thunder of the conflict at the harbour mouth. Even in the darkness, against the still faintly grey western sky, the spume could be seen rising like waterspouts. But it was the ear rather than the eye which made certain presage of disaster.
And there's two-three tinklers campin' down in the Garple Dean. They're in it, for Dobson was colloguin' wi' them a' mornin'. When I seen ye, I thought ye were more o' the gang, till I mindit that one o' ye was auld McCunn that has the shop in Mearns Street. I seen that ye didna' like the look o' Lean, and I followed ye here, for I was thinkin' I needit help."
It was a stream the Garple of course and then he remembered where he was and what had happened. I do not wish to portray Dickson as a hero, for nothing would annoy him more; but I am bound to say that his first clear thought was not of his own danger. It was intense exasperation at the miscarriage of his plans.
Among them was a young man, different in dress and appearance from the rest a young man with a noble head and a finely-cut classic face, which was not marred like the others from pounding among the Garple rocks. His dark hair was washed back from his brow, and the mouth, which had been hard in life, was now relaxed in the strange innocence of death.
Nesting birds were busy on the Laver banks and in the Huntingtower thickets; the village smoked peacefully to the clear skies; even the House looked cheerful if dishevelled. The Garple Dean was a garden of swaying larches, linnets, and wild anemones.
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