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Updated: June 29, 2025
"He is, I believe, the guest of Major Tredennick, who lives on the other side of Perthshire at Invermay on Loch Earn." "And the young lady goes back to Hill Street with her stepfather, eh?" "On Wednesday." "Good!" was the stranger's reply.
His curious hatred of his own popularity was to everyone a mystery. His intimate friends, of whom Fred Tredennick was one, had whispered that, in order to efface his identity, he was known in certain circles abroad by the name of Maltwood. This was quite true. In London he was a member of White's and the Devonshire as Fetherston.
His lips were pressed tightly together, his brows contracted. He was again to meet Enid Orlebar. He shot a covert glance at the general walking at his side. In his eyes showed an unusual expression, half of suspicion, half of curiosity. Next instant, however, it had vanished, and he laughed loudly at a story Tredennick was telling. ENID was standing on the steps of the hotel when the men arrived.
He was a merry fellow, full of bright humour, and excellent company. But to the world he wore a mask that was impenetrable. At that moment he was shooting with his old friend Tredennick, who lived close to St. Fillans, on the picturesque Loch Earn, when the general, hearing of his presence in the neighbourhood, had sent him an invitation to accompany him on his inspection.
"I shouldn't care much to be there, sir," remarked Tredennick. "No," laughed the general. "But really there's no danger except that we're just in the line of their fire." So they struck off to the left and approached the position by a circuitous route, being greeted by the colonel and other officers, to whom the visit of Sir Hugh Elcombe had been a considerable surprise.
In silence he bowed over it, his lips compressed; then, turning upon his heel, he went down the gravelled walk back to the hotel, which, some ten minutes later, he left with Fred Tredennick, catching the train back to Dundee and on to Perth.
Fred Tredennick, the taller of the two civilians, walked with a gait decidedly military, for, indeed, he was a retired major, and as the general had made a tour of inspection of the camp prior to walking towards where the mountain battery was manoeuvring, he had been chatting with him upon technical matters.
The serviceable-looking guns were already mounted and in position, the range had been found; the reserves, the ponies and the pipers were lying concealed in a depression close at hand when they arrived. The general, after a swift glance around, stood with legs apart and arms folded to watch, while Fetherston and Tredennick, with field-glasses, had halted a little distance away.
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