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"He is not wanted here. Come, be off!" The chief looked straight in the eyes of the trader with a dark scowl, then, turning slowly on his heel, stalked solemnly away. There was an irrepressible laugh at this episode as the group of marksmen returned to their former position. Mr Ravenshaw, however, soon left them and returned home.
His son was still staring out of the window. The little stockbroker, seated on the sofa beside his large wife, made a deprecating movement of his eyebrows, as though entreating not to be asked. Austin's cold glance roved to Dr. Ravenshaw. "Doctor," he said, "let me give you a whisky-and-soda." Doctor Ravenshaw shook his head. "I have a patient to visit before dark," he said, "a lady.
My son has been arrested." "He has been arrested wrongly, then. It is I I alone am responsible." Austin groped for his glasses like a man suddenly enveloped in darkness. His fingers closed on them and adjusted them on the bridge of his nose. Through them he surveyed the man before him with close attention. "Ravenshaw," he said gravely, "either you are mad or I am.
I do not care to carry the smell of spirits into a sick-room." "But this is a special occasion, Ravenshaw," persisted the other. "We do not restore a title every day." "Austin!" The voice of Mrs. Pendleton sounded from the sofa in shocked protest. "What's the matter?" said Austin, pausing in the act of pouring some whisky into a glass.
"Humph! that boy does nothing but shoot," growled the old man, who was a giant in body if not in spirit. "Who all is he bringing?" "There's John Flett, and David Mowat, and Sam Hayes, and Herr Winklemann, and Ian Macdonald, and Louis Lambert all the best shots, I suppose," said Elsie, bending over her work. "The best shots!" cried Mr Ravenshaw, turning from the window with a sarcastic laugh.
Percussion locks had not at that time come into fashion, and long ranges had not yet been dreamed of. "Come, open the ball, Lambert," said Victor. The handsome youth at once stepped forward, and old Mr Ravenshaw watched him with an approving smile as he took aim. Puff! went the powder in the pan, but no sound followed save the peal of laughter with which the miss-fire was greeted.
Barrant dismissed young Turold's opinions about the case with an impatient shake of the head. "Who told him about the marks?" he said. It was the thought which had occurred to Mr. Brimsdown at the time, but he did not say so then. "How did you discover them?" he asked. "When I was examining the body. But Charles Turold had no reason to examine the body. Perhaps Dr. Ravenshaw told him.
His slightly enlightened mind had been busy with those difficult problems about good and evil, God and man, which seem to exercise all earnest souls more or less in every land, savage as well as civilised. The revenge which he had taken on Mr Ravenshaw was sweet very sweet, for his indignation against that irascible old gentleman was very bitter; justifiably so, he thought.
Old Mr Ravenshaw felt a strong desire to embrace that boy on the spot, so vividly did he bring before his mind his beloved Tony! Sometimes the older people in that miscellaneous camp emulated the children in riotous behaviour.
"Yes, Angus, I am," replied Ravenshaw, with as much urbanity as he could assume and it wasn't much, for he suspected the cause of his neighbour's visit "you'd better sit down and light your own." Angus accepted the invitation, and proceeded to load with much deliberation. Now it must be known that the Highlander loved the view from that knoll as much as did his neighbour.
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