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From my inside pocket, I took the letter which Harry had written to little, forlorn Peggy Darrol. I went to my writing desk and addressed an envelope to Lady Rosemary Granton. I inserted Harry's letter and sealed the envelope. As to the bearer of my message, that was easy. I pushed the button at my bedside and, in a second, sweet little Maisie Brant came to the door.
In a few hours it would convey them all to Granton. Nell looked at the clear water which flowed up to her feet, as the waves broke gently on the beach, reflecting the starlight. "Is this a lake?" said she. "No," replied Harry, "it is a great river flowing towards the sea, and soon opening so widely as to resemble a gulf.
Granton had made herself most agreeable to Charles from the very beginning. And as to one thing he was right. In her timid, shrinking way she was undeniably charming. That cast in her eye was all pure piquancy. We rowed out on to the Firth, or, to be more strictly correct, the two Grantons rowed while Charles and I sat and leaned back in the stern on the luxurious cushions.
I'll work in a shoe shop if I get a chance or in a printing office." "Do you understand the shoe business?" "No; but I can learn." "Where did you come from?" "Granton." "You didn't come from there this morning?" "No, I guess not, as it's over twenty miles. Last night I stopped at General Jackson's." The boy whistled. "What, at the old crazy man's that lives down here a piece?" "Yes."
"Say nothing about it, and join forces with Craig-Ellachie." Charles closed one eye pensively. That very same evening came a telegram in cipher from our chief engineer on the territory of the option: "Young Granton has somehow given us the slip and gone home. We suspect he knows all. But we have not divulged the secret to anybody."
The engineer had disappeared, and no reason could be brought forward to explain his absence. They learnt, by questioning his servant, that he had embarked at Granton Pier. But from that time there were no traces of James Starr. Simon Ford's letter had requested secrecy, and he had said nothing of his departure for the Aberfoyle mines.
Next morning two white men, owning that they felt 'awful mean, left Granton, walked down to Riverside House, and at 8 A.M. embarked upon the hapless Effuenta. The stream rapidly narrowed, and its aspect became wilder. Dead trees, anchored by the bole-base, cumbered the bed, and dykes and bars of slate, overlaid by shales of recent date, projected from either side.
Our talk was of cyanide processes, reverberatories, pennyweights, water-jackets. But it dawned upon us soon that, in spite of his red hair and his innocent manners, our friend, the Honourable David Granton, knew a thing or two.
"I suppose I shall have to put the man up for the night a nasty, raw-boned, half-baked Scotchman, you may be certain." On Wednesday afternoon, about three, young Granton arrived. He was a pleasant-featured, red-haired, sandy-whiskered youth, not unlike his father; but, strange to say, he dropped in to call, instead of bringing his luggage.
Now that they knew Colonel Clay to be really Paul Finglemore, they showed with great cleverness how Paul Finglemore's disappearances and reappearances in London exactly tallied with Colonel Clay's appearances and disappearances elsewhere, under the guise of the little curate, the Seer, David Granton, and the rest of them.
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