"Good morning, Mr. Ewart," he said, coming forward to offer me his hand. "Is there anything the matter with Miss McLeod?"

"She's not very well," I replied. "She has something the matter with her eyes. It was very good of you to let us win our little race. Every little pleasure that we can give Miss McLeod just at this time is of great value to us."

"Eyes?" said Hilderman, thoughtfully, with the same dreamy expression that Dennis had pointed out at King's Cross. "What sort of thing is it? I know something about eyes."

"I'm afraid I can tell you nothing," I replied. "She has suddenly lost her sight in the most amazing and terrible manner. We are just taking her up to London to see a specialist."

"Had she any pain?" he asked, "or any dizziness or fainting, or anything like that?"

"No," I said; "there is absolutely nothing to go by. It is a most extraordinary affair, and a very terrible blow to us all."

"It must be," he said gently, "very, very terrible. I have heard so much about Miss McLeod that I even feel it myself. I am deeply grieved to hear this, deeply grieved." He spoke very sympathetically, and I felt that it was very kind of him to take such a friendly interest in his unknown neighbour.

"I think you'd better join me in a brandy and soda, Mr. Ewart," he said, laying a hand on my arm. "I don't suppose you know it, but you look ten years older than you did yesterday."

Yesterday! Good heavens! Had all this happened in a day? I was certainly feeling far from myself, and I accepted his invitation readily enough. We turned into the refreshment-room outside the station, and I had a stiff whisky and soda, realising how far away from London I was when the man gave me the whisky in one glass and the soda in another.

"Tell me," said Hilderman, "if it is not very rude of me to ask, or too painful for you to speak about, what was Miss McLeod doing when this happened? Reading, or what?" I gave him a rough outline of the circumstances, but, in view of what the General had told me the night before, I said nothing about the mystery of the green ray. We wanted to retain our reputation for sanity as long as we could, and no outsider who did not know the General personally would believe that his astonishing experience was anything other than the strange creation of a nerve-wrought brain.

"And that was all?" he asked thoughtfully.

"Yes, that was all," I replied.

"I suppose you haven't decided what specialist you will take her to when you get her to London?" he queried. I was about to reply when I heard Sholto in a heated argument with some other dog, and I bolted out, with a hurried excuse, to bring him in. As I returned, with my hand on his collar, the harbour-master greeted me, and told me we might have some difficulty in reaching London, as the train service was likely to be disorganised owing to the transport of troops and munitions. When I rejoined Hilderman I was full of this new development. It would be both awkward and unpleasant to be turned out of the train before we reached London; and every moment's delay might mean injury to my poor Myra.

"I don't think you need worry at all, Mr. Ewart," my new friend assured me. "The trains will run all right. They may alter the services where they have too many trains, but here they are not likely to do so. Thank heaven, I shall not be travelling again for some time. I hate it, although I have to run about a good deal. I have a few modest investments that take up a considerable portion of my time. I figure on one or two boards, you know."

I thanked him for his kindly interest, and left him. I wired to Dennis not to meet the train, but to be prepared to put me up the following night. Then I got the tickets, and took Myra to the train. Hilderman was seeing his friend off; a short, somewhat stout man, with flaxen hair, and small blue eyes peering through a pair of large spectacles. He bowed to us as we passed, and I was struck by the kindly sympathy with which both he and his companion glanced at Myra. Evidently they both realised what a terrible blow to her the loss of her sight must be. I will admit that, when it came to the time for the train to start, my heart nearly failed me altogether. The sight of the beautiful blind girl saying good-bye to her dog was one which I hope I may never see again. As the train steamed out into the cutting Sholto was left whining on the platform, and it was as much as Angus could do to hold him back. Poor Sholto; he was a faithful beast, and they were taking his beloved mistress away from him. Myra sat back in the carriage, and furtively wiped away a tear from her poor sightless eyes.

"Poor old fellow," she said, with a brave smile. "If they can't do anything for me in London he will have to lead me about. It'll keep him out of mischief."

"Don't say that, darling!" I groaned.

"Poor old Ron," she said tenderly. "I believe it's worse for you than it is for me. And now that Mary has left us for a bit I want to say something to you, dear, while I can. You mustn't think I don't understand what this will mean to you, dear. I want you to know, darling, that I hope always to be your very great friend, but I don't expect you to marry a blind girl."

I shall certainly not tell the reader what I said in reply to that generous and noble statement.

"Besides, dear," I concluded eventually, "you will soon be able to see again." And so I tried to assure her, till presently Mary returned. And then we made her comfortable, and I read to her in the darkened carriage until at last my poor darling fell into a gentle sleep.

But twenty-six hours later, when I had seen Myra safely back to her aunt's house from Harley Street, I staggered up the stairs to Dennis's rooms in Panton Street a broken man.

Dennis opened the door to me himself.

"Ronald!" he cried, "what has happened?"

"Hello, old man," I said weakly; "I'm very, very tired."

My friend took my arm and led me into his sitting-room, and pressed me gently on the sofa. Then he brought me a stiff brandy and soda, and sat beside me in silence for a few minutes.

"Feel better, old boy?" he asked presently.

"Yes, thanks, Den," I answered. "I'm sorry to be such a nuisance."

"Tell me," he said, "when you feel well enough." But I lay, and closed my eyes, for I was dog-tired, and could not bring myself to speak even to Dennis of the specialist's terrible verdict. And soon Nature asserted herself, and I fell into a deep sleep, which was the best thing I could have done. When I awoke I was lying in bed, in total darkness, in Dennis's extra room. I sat up, and called out in my surprise, for I had been many miles away in my slumbers, and my first hope was that the whole adventure had been a hideous nightmare. But Dennis, hearing my shout, walked in to see if I wanted anything.

"Now, how do you feel?" he asked, as he sat on the side of the bed.

"Did you carry me in here and put me to bed?" I asked idly.

"You certainly didn't look like walking, and I thought you'd be more comfortable in here," he laughed.

"Great Scott, man!" I cried, suddenly remembering his heart trouble, "you shouldn't have done that, Dennis. You promised me you'd take no risks."

"Heavens! that was nothing," he declared emphatically. "You're as light as a feather. There was no risk in that."

Indeed, as events were to prove, it was only the first of many, but being ignorant of that at the time, I contented myself with pointing out that very few feathers turned the scale at twelve-stone-three.

"Now look here, old son," said Dennis, in an authoritative voice. "You mustn't imagine I'm dealing with your trouble, whatever it is (for you are in trouble, Ronald), in a matter-of-fact and unsympathetic way. But what you've got to do now is to get up, have a tub, slip into a dressing-gown, and have a quiet little dinner with me here. It's just gone eight, so you ought to be ready for it."

He disappeared to turn on the bath-water, and then, when he met me in the passage making for the bathroom, he handed me a glass.

"Drink this, old chap," he said.

"What is it?" I asked suspiciously. "I don't want any fancy pick-me-ups. They only make you worse afterwards."

"That was prescribed by Doctor Common Sense," he answered lightly. "It's peach bitters!"

After my tub I was able to tackle my dinner, with the knowledge that I was badly in need of something to eat, a feeling which surprised me very much. Throughout the meal Dennis told me of the enlistment of Jack and poor Tommy Evans, and we discussed their prospects and the chances of my seeing them before they disappeared into the crowded ranks of Kitchener's Army. Dennis himself had been ruthlessly refused. He spoke of trying his luck again until they accepted him, but I knew, from what he told me of the doctor's remarks, that he had no earthly chance of being passed. He seemed to have entirely mastered his regret at his inability to serve his country in the ranks, but I understood at once that he was merely putting his own troubles in the background in face of my own. The meal over, we "got behind" two of Dennis's excellent cigars, and made ourselves comfortable.

"Now then, old man," said my friend, "a complete and precise account of what has happened to you since you left King's Cross two days ago."

"It has all been so extraordinary and terrible," I said, "that I hardly know where to begin."

"I saw you last at the station," he said, laying a hand on my knee. "Begin from there." So I began at the beginning, and told him just what had happened, exactly as I have told the reader.

Dennis was deeply moved.

"And then you saw Olvery?" he asked. "What did he say?"

I got up, paced the room. What had Olvery said? Should I ever forget those blistering words to the day of my death?

"Come, old boy," said Dennis kindly. "You must remember that Olvery is merely a man. He is only one of the many floundering about among the mysteries of Nature, trying to throw light upon darkness. You mustn't imagine that his view is necessarily correct, from whichever point he looked at the case."

"Thank you for that," I said. "I am afraid I forgot that he might possibly be mistaken. He says he knows nothing of this case at all; he can make nothing of it; it is quite beyond him. He is certain that no such similar case has been brought to the knowledge of optical science. His view is that there is the remotest possibility that this green veil may lift, but he says he is sure that if there were any scientific reason for saying that her sight will be restored he would be able to detect it."

"I prefer your Dr. Whitehouse to this man any day," said Dennis emphatically. "He took just the opposite view. This man Olvery, like so many specialists, is evidently a dogmatic egotist."

"I'm very glad you can give us even that hope. But the eyes are such a delicate instrument. It is difficult to see how the sight can be recovered when once it has gone. Of course, Olvery is going to do what he can. He has suggested certain treatment, and massage, and so forth, and he has no objection to her going back home again. Myra, of course, is tremendously anxious for me to take her back to her father. She is worrying about him already; and, fortunately, Olvery knows Whitehouse, and has the highest opinion of him."

"Go back as soon as you can, old chap," Dennis advised. "Wire me if there is anything I can do for you at this end. I'll make some inquiries, and see if I can find out anything about any similar cases, and so on. But you take the girl back home if she wants to go."

While we were still talking, Dennis's man, Cooper, entered.

"Telegram for Mr. Ewart, sir," he said.

I took the yellow envelope and opened it carelessly.

"What is it?" cried Dennis, springing to his feet as he saw my face.

"Read it," I said faintly, as I handed it to him. Dennis read the message aloud:

"Come back at once. I can't stand this. Sholto is blind.—McLEOD."



CHAPTER VI.

CONTAINS A FURTHER ENIGMA.

Back again at King's Cross. I seemed to have been travelling on the line all my life. Myra turned to Dennis to say good-bye.

"I hope," she said bravely, "that when we meet again, Mr. Burnham, I shall be able to tell you that I can see you looking well."

"I do hope so, indeed, Miss McLeod," said Dennis fervently, with a quick glance at me. He was lost in admiration at the quiet calm with which my poor darling took her terrible affliction.

"Good-bye, old chap," my friend said to me cheerily. "I hope to hear in a day or two that Miss McLeod is quite well again. And," he added in a whisper, "wire me if I can be of the slightest use."

I readily agreed, and I was beginning, even at that early stage, to be very thankful that my friend was free to help me in case of need.

When at last we reached Invermalluch Lodge again I sat for an hour in the library with the old General, telling him in detail the result of the specialist's examination, but I took care to put Dennis's point of view to him at the outset. I was glad I had done so, for he seized on the faint hope it offered, and clung to it in despair.

"What is your own impression of Olvery?" he asked.

"I fancy his knighthood has got into his head," I replied. "He gave me the impression that he was quite certain he knew everything there was to be known, and that the mere fact of his not being sure about the return of her sight made him positive that it must be complete and absolute blindness. Of course he hedged and left himself a loophole in the event of her recovery, but I could have told him just as much as he told me."

"You say you took it on yourself to take Myra out of his hands altogether. Why?"

"When I received your wire, I rang him up at once, and asked him to see me immediately," I replied. "Eventually he agreed, and I took a taxi to his place, and told him about Sholto. He gave his opinion without any consideration whatever. He said: 'The merest coincidence, Mr. Ewart—the merest coincidence—and you may even find that the dog has not actually lost his sight at all.' So naturally I thanked him, gave him his fee, and came away. I propose now that you should try and get this man—Garnish, is it——?"

"Garnesk," interposed the General, consulting a note Dr. Whitehouse had left—"Herbert Garnesk."

"Well, I want you to try and get him sufficiently interested to come here—and stop here—until he has come to some decision, no matter what it is."

"A thundering good idea, Ronald," agreed the old man. "But we can't tell him this extraordinary story in writing."

"I'll go and find him, and fetch him back with me, if I have to hold a gun to his head."

Accordingly I dashed off to Mallaig again, and caught the evening train to Glasgow. I spent an unhappy night at the Central Station Hotel—though it was certainly not the fault of the hotel—and looked up Mr. Garnesk as early in the morning as I dared disturb a celebrated consultant oculist. I took a fancy to the man at once. He was young—in the early 'forties—very alert-looking, and exceedingly businesslike. His prematurely grey hair gave an added air of importance to the clever eye and clean-cut features, and he had a charm of manner which would have made his fortune had he been almost ignorant of the rudiments of his calling.

"So that's the complete story of Miss McLeod and her dog Sholto," he mused, when I had finished speaking. For a brief second I thought he was about to laugh at the apparent absurdity of the yarn, but before I had time to answer he spoke again.

"Miss McLeod and her dog are apparently blind, and Mr. Ewart is a bundle of nerves—and this is very excellent brandy, Mr. Ewart. Allow me."

I accepted the proffered glass with a laugh, in spite of myself.

"What do you think of it?" I asked.

He sat on the edge of the table and swung his leg, wrapt in thought for a moment.

"I'm very glad to say I don't know what to think of it," he replied presently.

"Why glad?" I asked anxiously.

"Because, my dear sir, this is so remarkable that if I thought I could see a solution I should probably be making a mistake. This is something I am learning about for the first time; and, frankly, it interests me intensely."

Suddenly he sat down abruptly, with a muttered "Now, then," and began to catechise me in a most extraordinarily searching manner, firing off question after question with the rapidity of a maxim gun.

I shall not detain the reader with details of this catechism. His inquiries ranged from the system on which the house was lighted and the number of hours Myra averaged per week on the sea to the make of the engine in her motor-boat. His last question was: "Does anybody drink the river water?"

"Windows that flash in the sun seem to me to be confusing the issue," he said at last. "Windows must always reflect light in a certain direction at a certain time, and though they may be irritating they could not possibly produce even temporary blindness. Still, we won't forget them, Mr. Ewart, though we had better put them aside for a moment. Now, how soon can you bring Miss McLeod to see me?"

"We had hoped," I ventured to suggest, "that you would be able to run up and see her, and have a look at the ground. You could then examine the dog as well."

"I'll be perfectly candid with you, Mr. Ewart," he replied. "I was just going to start on a short holiday. I was going to Switzerland; but the war has knocked that on the head, so I am just running up to Perthshire for a week's fishing. I need a holiday very badly, more especially as I have undertaken some Government work in connection with the war. Fortunately, I am a bachelor, and I will willingly give up a couple of days to Miss McLeod."

"Why not combine business with pleasure?" I suggested. "There's good fishing at Invermalluch, gorgeous scenery, a golf-course a mile or two away, and you can do just as you please on the General's estate. He'll be delighted."

"Are you sure?" he asked. "Well, anyway, I can go to the Glenelg Hotel and fish up Glenmore. Now, Mr. Ewart, we will catch the afternoon train, the earliest there is—though I suppose there's only one."

"I can't tell you how grateful I am, Mr. Garnesk," I said. "It may mean a very great deal to us that you are so anxious to see Miss McLeod."

"I am not anxious to see Miss McLeod," he answered, cryptically. "I'm anxious to see the dog."

I left him, to telegraph to the General that I was arriving that night bringing the specialist with me; and I need hardly say that I left the telegraph office with a comparatively light heart. The journey to Mallaig was one of the most interesting afternoons I have spent. Garnesk was consulting oculist to all the big chemical, machine, naval and other manufacturers in the great industrial centre on the Clyde, and he kept me enthralled with his accounts of the sudden attacks of various eye diseases which were occasionally the fate of the workers. The effects of chemicals, the indigenous generation of gases in the furnace-rooms, and so on, had afforded him ample scope for experiment; and, fortunately for us all, he was delighted to have found new ground for enlarging his experience. The mixture of professional anecdote and piscatorial prophecy with which he entertained me, now and then rushing across the carriage to get a glimpse of a salmon-pool in some river over which we happened to be passing, gave me an amusing insight into the character of one whom I have since learned to regard as a very brilliant and charming man. When we arrived at the landing-stage at the Lodge, the General greeted him with undisguised joy.

"Begad! Mr. Garnesk," he blurted, "I'm thundering glad to see you, sir. It's good of you to come, sir—extremely good."

"That remains to be seen, General," said Garnesk, solemnly—"whether my visit will do any good. I hope so, with all my heart."

"Amen to that!" said the old man, pathetically, with a heavy sigh.

"How is Miss McLeod?" asked the scientist.

"Her eyes are no better," the General replied. "She cannot see at all. Otherwise she is in perfect health. She says she feels as well as ever she did. I can't understand it," he finished helplessly.

A suit-case, a bag of golf-clubs, and a square deal box completed Garnesk's outfit.

"Steady with that—here, let me take it?" he cried, as Angus was lifting the last item ashore. "Business and pleasure," he continued, raising the box in his arms and indicating his clubs and fishing-rods with a jerk of the head. "I've one or two things here that may help me in my work, and as they are very delicate instruments I would rather carry them myself."

As we approached the house the sound of the piano greeted us in the distance; and soon we could distinguish the strains of that most beautiful and understanding of all burial marches, Grieg's "Aase's Tod."

"My daughter can even welcome us with a tune," said the old man proudly. To him all music came under the category of "tunes," with the sole exception of "God Save the King," which was a national institution.

Garnesk stopped and stood on the path, the deal box clasped carefully in his arms, his head on one side, listening.

"We have the right sort of patient to deal with, anyway," he remarked, with a sigh of relief. But to me the melancholy insistence of the exquisite harmonies was fraught with ill-omen, and I could not restrain the shudder of an unaccountable fear as we resumed our walk. Later on, when I found an opportunity to ask her why she had chosen that particular music, I was only partially relieved by her ingenuous answer:

"Oh! just because I love it, Ronnie," she said, "and there are no difficult intervals to play with your eyes shut. I thought it was rather clever of me to think of it. I shall soon be able to play more tricky things. It will cure me of looking at the notes when I can see again."

Myra and the young specialist were introduced; and, though he chatted gaily with her, and touched on innumerable subjects, he never once alluded to her misfortune. Though the General was evidently anxious that Garnesk should make his examination as soon as possible, hospitality forced him to suggest dinner first, and I was surprised at the alacrity with which the visitor concurred, knowing, as I did, his intense interest in the case. But, after a few conventional remarks to the General and Myra, I was about to show him to his room when he seized my arm excitedly.

"Quick!" he whispered. "Where's the dog?"

I led him to a room above the coach-house where poor Sholto was a pitiful prisoner. Garnesk deposited his precious packing-case on the floor, and called the dog to him. Sholto sprang forward in a moment, recognising the tone of friendship in the voice, and planted his paws on my companion's chest. For twenty minutes the examination lasted. One strange test after another was applied to the poor animal; but he was very good about it, and seemed to understand that we were trying to help him.

"I should hate to have to kill that dog, but it may be necessary before long," said the specialist. "But why didn't you tell Miss McLeod her dog was blind?"

"We were afraid it would upset her too much," I answered, and then suddenly realising the point of the question, I added, "but how on earth did you know we hadn't?"

"Because," he said thoughtfully, "if you had, she strikes me as the sort of girl who would have asked me straight away what I thought I could do for him."

"You seem to understand human nature as well as you do science," I said admiringly.

"The two are identical, or at least co-incident, Mr. Ewart," he replied solemnly. "But what was it you did tell her?"

"We said he was suffering from a sort of eczema, which looked as if it might be infectious, and we thought she ought not to be near him for a bit. Otherwise, of course, she would have wanted him with her all the time."

When the examination was over for the time being, I chained Sholto to a hook in an old harness-rack, for he was strong and unused to captivity, and the door had no lock, only a small bolt outside. Garnesk packed away his instruments, carried them carefully to the house, and then we sprinted upstairs to dress hurriedly for dinner.

Myra, poor child, was sensitive about joining us, but the specialist was very anxious that she should do so, and we all dined together. There was no allusion whatever to the strange events which had brought us together, but, with my professional knowledge of the mysteries of cross-examination, I noticed that Garnesk contrived to acquire more knowledge of various circumstances on which he seemed to wish to be enlightened than Sir Gaire Olvery had gleaned from forty minutes' blunt questioning.

Myra had hardly left us after the meal was over when the butler handed the General a card, and almost simultaneously a tall, shadowy figure passed the window along the verandah.

"'Pon my soul, that's kind of him," said the simple-hearted old man. "Run after him, Ronald, and fetch him back."

"Who is it?" I asked, rising.

"'Mr. J. G. Hilderman wishes to express his sympathy with General McLeod in his daughter's illness.' Very neighbourly indeed."

I ran out after Hilderman, and found that his long legs had taken him nearly half-way to the landing-stage by the time I overtook him. He stopped as I called his name.

"Why, Mr. Ewart," he exclaimed in surprise, "you back again already? I hope you had a very satisfactory interview with the specialist."

I told him briefly that our visit to London had given us no satisfaction at all, and gave him the General's invitation to come up to the house.

"I wouldn't think of it, Mr. Ewart," he declared emphatically. "Very kind of General McLeod, but he don't want to worry with strangers just now."

He was very determined; but I insisted, and he eventually gave way. I was glad he had come. I had a somewhat unreasonable esteem for his abilities and resource, and every assistance was welcomed with open arms at Invermalluch Lodge at that time. His extensive knowledge even included some slight acquaintance with the body's most wonderful organ, for he told us some very interesting eye cases he had heard of in the States. He was genuinely dumbfoundered when we told him that Sholto was an additional victim.

"You don't say so!" he exclaimed. "Well, that is remarkable. It sounds as if it came out of a book. In broad daylight a young lady goes out, and is as well as can be. An hour later she is stone blind. Two days afterwards her dog goes out, and he comes in blind. Yes, it's got me beaten."

"It's got us all beaten," said Garnesk deliberately, and I was shocked to hear him say it. I reflected that he had not even examined Myra, and my disappointment was the keener that he should admit himself nonplussed so early. But he left me no loophole of doubt.

"I can make nothing whatever of it," he added, ruefully shaking his head. "I wonder if I ever shall?"

"Come, come! my dear sir," said Hilderman cheerily. "You scientist fellows have a knack of making your difficulties a little greater than they really are, in order to get more credit for surmounting them. I know your little ways. I'm an American, you know, professor; you can't get me that way."

Garnesk laughed—fortunately. And again I was grateful to Hilderman for his timely tact, for it cheered the old man immensely, and helped me a little, too. Presently the General left the room, and Garnesk leaned forward.

"Mr. Hilderman," he said earnestly, "do everything in your power to keep the old man's spirits up. I can give him no hope, professionally—I dare not. But you, a layman, can. It is difficult in the circumstances for Mr. Ewart to give much encouragement, but I know he will do his best."

"J. G. Hilderman is yours to command," said the American, with a bow that included us both. And then the oculist suggested that we should have a look at Sholto. I led the way to the coach-house with a heavy heart. I should not have minded a mystery which would have endangered my own life. Apart from any altruism, the personal peril would have afforded a welcome stimulant. But this unseen horror, which stabbed in the dark and robbed my beautiful Myra of her sight, chilled my very soul. I climbed wearily up the wooden stair to Sholto's new den, carrying a stable lantern in my hand, for it was getting late, and the carefully darkened room would be as black as ink. The other two followed close on my heels. I opened the door and called to the dog. A faint, sickly-sweet odour met me as I did so.

"You give your dogs elaborate kennels," said Hilderman, as he climbed the stairs, and I laughed in reply.

At that instant Garnesk stood still and sniffed the air. With a sudden jerk he wrenched the lantern from my hand and strode into the room. Sholto was gone. Only half his chain dangled from the hook, cut through the middle with a pair of strong wire-nippers.

The oculist turned to us with an expression of acute interest.

"Chloroform," he said quietly.



CHAPTER VII.

THE CHEMIST'S ROCK.

By the time we gave up our hunt for Sholto that night and saw Hilderman into the Baltimore II. at the landing-stage, the harvest moon had splashed the mountain side with patches of silver in reckless profusion. But we were in no mood for aesthetics. We applied the moonlight to more practical purposes.

"Show me the river, Mr. Ewart," said Garnesk, as we turned away from the shore. Accordingly I took him up stream till we came to Dead Man's Pool.

"What do you make of things now?" I asked, as we walked along.

"I can't make anything of the stealing of a dog except that someone coveted it and has now got it. Can you?"

"No," I answered thoughtfully, "I can't. But it's an extraordinary coincidence, at the least; and who on earth could have stolen him? You see, no one round here would dream of taking anything that belonged to Miss McLeod. And, though Sholto is well enough bred, he's never been in a show, and has no reputation. I can't make it out."

"I'm very sorry it happened just now," said the oculist. "I was in hopes that by experimenting on the animal I could cure the girl. But at any rate that is beyond grieving about now. Is this the place?"

"Yes," I said, "this is Dead Man's Pool. That dim white shape there is the Chemist's Rock. It was there that Miss McLeod lost her sight, and here that the General had his extraordinary experience. It looks innocent and peaceful enough," I added, with a sigh.

"The General was very lucky—very lucky indeed!" murmured my companion.

"Why?" I asked.

"He was down here looking at the rock, and he saw some sort of vision; Miss McLeod was up at the rock looking down at the pool, and she lost her sight. The General might have been looking this way instead of that, in which case we might have had another case on our hands."

"Then you think the two adventures are different aspects of the same thing? If only we knew where Sholto was it might give us even more to go on."

"Have you any tobacco?" he asked abruptly. "I've got a pipe, but I left my tobacco in my room."

We were in evening dress, and my pouch and pipe were in the house; so I left him there while I ran in to fetch them. When I returned he was nowhere to be seen, and for a moment I half suspected some new tragedy; but as I looked round I caught the gleam of the moonlight on his shirt-front. I found him kneeling on the Chemist's Rock, looking out to sea.

"Many thanks, Mr. Ewart," he said, as he handed me back my pouch and took the light I offered him. "Ah! I'm glad to see you smoke real tobacco. By the way," he added, "have you a friend—a real friend—you can trust?"

"I have, thank God!" I replied fervently. "Why?"

"I should like you to send for him. Do anything you can to get him here at once. Go and drag him here, if you like—only get him here."

"But why this urgency?" I asked again. "I admit that we have some very horrible natural phenomena to deal with; but, apart from the fact that some wretched poacher has stolen a dog, we have no human element to fear. I don't see how he can help, and he might run a risk himself."

"Never mind—fetch him or send for him. If you could have seen yourself start when you returned to the pool yonder to find me missing, you would realise that your nervous system would be the better for a little congenial companionship. Frankly, Mr. Ewart, I don't like the idea of you being left alone here during the next few days with a blind girl and an old man—if you'll pardon me for being so blunt."

"But you'll be here," I said; "and I hope you will have something to say to us that will put nerves out of the question when you have examined Myra."

Garnesk rose to his feet and laid a friendly hand on my arm.

"As soon as I've seen what this place looks like at a quarter-past four to a quarter-past five in the afternoon I shall leave you."

"But—good heavens, man!" I cried, aghast, "you won't leave us like that. We hoped for so much from your visit. You can't realise, man, what it may mean to—to us all! You see——"

"My dear chap," said my companion, cutting me short with a laugh, "it is just because I do realise that my presence here may be dangerous to Miss McLeod that I propose to leave."

"Dangerous to her?" I gasped. "What on earth do you mean now?" The whole world seemed to have taken leave of its senses, and I mentally vowed that I should wire for Dennis first thing in the morning.

"I say that because her dog has been drugged and taken away."

"But some fool of a poacher was responsible for that!" I cried.

My companion looked at me thoughtfully as he puffed at his pipe.

"I was the cause of the dog's disappearance," he said quietly.

"I see what you're driving at," I said. "You pretended to steal the dog because you were afraid Myra would make overwhelming objections to your vivisecting him, or whatever you want to do. Of course, now I see you would be the only person about Invermalluch Lodge likely to have chloroform. But even then I don't see what you mean by saying that your presence here would be dangerous to Miss McLeod."

"That's a very ingenious construction to put on my words, my dear fellow," he said; "but in my mind I was relying on you to overcome my patient's objections to any experiments that might be deemed advisable on her dog. I meant something much more serious than that. I have known you only a few hours, Mr. Ewart; but nobody need tell me you are anything of a fool, unless he wants a very flat contradiction. You are looking at this affair from a personal point of view—and no wonder, either. But if you were not so worried about your fiancee your brain would have grasped my point at once. That is why I want you to send for a friend."

"I will," I promised solemnly. "Now tell me—what did you mean?"

"When I said I was the cause of the dog's disappearance, I meant that if I hadn't arrived on the scene the dog would never have been touched. The dog was taken by someone who knew he was blind, who knew that I would experiment on him, and who was determined to get there first."

"But," I exclaimed, "that would be carrying professional jealousy a bit too far—if that's what you mean!"

"It would be carrying it so far that we can rule it out of court," he answered. "So that's what I don't mean. Let's go back and analyse the occurrence. I say the dog was not stolen by poachers, because of the chloroform; you said the same yourself. I say that the thief knew the dog was blind, because he knew he was in a darkened room above the coach-house, and he stole him from there. A poacher would have gone to the kennel, and found it empty—and that would have been the end of that. But the man who knew the dog was in a special room must have known why he was there; and it seems to me that the man who steals a blind dog steals him because, for some reason or other, he wants a blind dog—that very one, probably. Have you got me?"

"Yes," I said, "I follow you so far. Go on." And I was surprised to find how relieved I was at this suggested complication. I felt that if we could only attribute this amazing week of mysteries to some human agent I should be able to grapple with it.

"Now I come to my main point," Garnesk continued, "and it's this: The man who wanted Sholto because he was blind wanted him to experiment on. But no professional man would do a thing like that, even supposing there to be one about. That motive again is ruled out of court. There remains one possible solution——"

"Well?" I asked breathlessly, for even now I failed to grasp the conclusion my scientific companion could be coming to. "Go on!"

"If this thief did not want Sholto to experiment on himself, he stole the dog in order to prevent me from experimenting on him."

I laughed aloud from sheer excitement and the relief of finding some tangible thing to go on, for the oculist's argument struck me as very nearly perfect.

"You ought to be at Scotland Yard," I said. "You seem to me to have hit the nail on the head."

"The two callings are very closely allied," he said modestly. "Detectives deal with murderers and thieves, and I with nerves and tissues. It is all a question of diagnosis."

"I must say I think you've diagnosed this case very well, Mr. Garnesk," I said, "though we are just at the beginning of our troubles if what you suppose is correct."

"I can't think of any other solution," he answered thoughtfully; "and we are, as you say, just at the beginning of our troubles. The first thing to do is——"

"To find the man who stole the dog," I cut in.

"To find the man who knew the dog was blind," he corrected. "By that means we may come to the man who stole the dog; then we may get his reason from his own lips, if we are exceptionally lucky. But I fancy I can supply his motive, failing a full confession."

"You can?" I cried. "Let's hear it."

"You've thought of one yourself, of course?" he asked.

"The only motive I can think of is too fantastic altogether. It is weak enough to presuppose that someone has a grievance against Miss McLeod or the General, and that someone took advantage of the extraordinary circumstances to steal Sholto, and if possible prevent Myra getting her sight back. Oh, it's too ridiculous!"

"We have to remember," my companion suggested, "that our unknown quantity not only knew that the dog was blind, but also knew that I was coming or had arrived, and would probably experiment on the beast. It argues a very terrible urgency that the animal disappeared within an hour or two of my arrival. From all that I deduce what seems to me the only possible motive. The dog was stolen by the man who made Miss McLeod blind."

"Made her blind!" I cried. "You don't seriously mean that you think someone—some fiend of hell—deliberately blinded her?"

"Not deliberately," my companion replied. "But I believe it was through some human agency that she was blinded. I think some person or persons were anxious that Miss McLeod should remain blind, in case we should, in the process of recovering her sight, hit upon the cause of her losing it."

In silence I sat for a few moments, thinking over this extraordinary new outlook. I must certainly wire for Dennis in the morning.

"Mr. Garnesk," I said presently, "you are bringing a very terrible charge against some human monster whom we have yet to discover. But I must admit that you seem to have logic on your side. It remains for me to discover who these people are—if there are more than one."

"Yes," he mused; "that is what we must discover."

"We!" I exclaimed. "Then you're not going away?"

"Yes," he said. "I think it would be fairer to you all if I left you. I think my arrival has done some good—my departure may do more. But I assure you, Mr. Ewart, I shall not give up this case till Miss McLeod recovers her sight. I give you my hand on that."

I shook hands with him warmly.

"Thank you," I said, as I noticed the eager look on his keen, handsome face. "Thank you from the bottom of my heart. To-morrow I hope I shall find the man who knew Sholto was blind."

"I only know of one outside the General's household," he answered.

"But I don't even know that!" I cried, forgetting Dennis for the moment. As for Olvery, he had gone clean out of my mind. "Who do you mean?"

"The American," said my companion.

"Hilderman!" I exclaimed. "Surely you must be mistaken. Why, he was absolutely astonished when we told him. He can't have known."

"Still," Garnesk insisted, "I felt sure he knew. I suspected something about him, but I was wrong to do that, quite wrong; I admit that now. I couldn't at first see why he pretended he hadn't heard that Sholto was blind. You may have noticed that I tried to give him the impression that I had examined Miss McLeod and come to the conclusion that I could do nothing. I confess I did that to see how he took it. But I was on a wrong scent altogether. He knew about the dog, that was obvious, but it was also obvious that he hadn't been told from an official source, so to speak. He kept fishing for information. He brought up the dog several times, each time with a query mark in his voice—as you might say. He remarked that the last time he saw Miss McLeod she had her beautiful dog with her. That made me suspicious, because from what you told me she always had her dog with her. Then he said her dog must be feeling it very keenly, you remember. I tried him with my pessimistic conclusions to see how he took it. You see, as soon as I saw the dog I put contagious disease out of the question. Natural forces unguided seemed impossible, but natural forces of some nature that we can't yet understand seemed probable. Still I was wrong to suspect Hilderman, quite wrong. Besides he couldn't possibly have stolen the dog."

"I'm glad you feel you were wrong there," I said, "because I rather like the man. I shouldn't care to have to suspect him."

"Don't suspect him, whatever you do," said the oculist earnestly. "Whatever you do, don't do that. He might be very useful. Make a friend of him. You'll want all your friends."

He rose and stretched his legs, and I followed suit. We stood for a moment on the Chemist's Rock and gazed up the river, over the top of the falls, into the silver and purple symphony of a highland night. Presently my companion turned and took my arm.

"I've seen all I want to see," he said as he began to lead me down to the pool again. "They'll wonder what has become of us. And as I've seen enough for one night, let's get back to the house."

"It's a wonderful view at any time of the day or night," I agreed, and I sighed as I thought of poor Myra.

"It must be," said Garnesk absently, picking his way across the rocks. "It must be a magnificent view. I haven't noticed it; you must bring me here to-morrow."



CHAPTER VIII.

MISTS OF UNCERTAINTY.

When we got back to the house we found Myra and her father—not unnaturally—wondering what had become of us.

"What have you been doing, and where have you been, and what do you mean by it?" she asked, playfully. "I wish I could see you. I'm sure you must be looking very guilty."

Garnesk and I exchanged hurried glances. It was obvious from her remark that the General had not told her of Sholto's disappearance. I decided there and then that I would have to tell her the whole truth myself, and I gave the others a pretty broad hint that we would like to be left alone. I left the drawing-room and went with them to the library, and answered the old man's feverish questions as to the result of our search.

Then I returned to Myra. It was a difficult and unpleasant task that I had to perform, but I got through it somehow; and, as I expected, Myra was very distressed about her dog, but not in the least frightened. I had thought it wiser not to acquaint her with the specialist's deductions as to the connection between her own affliction and the theft of Sholto. When I had given her as many particulars as I thought advisable, the other two rejoined us.

"Can you think of anyone at all, Miss McLeod," the specialist asked, "who would be likely to steal Sholto?"

"I can't," the girl replied helplessly. "I wish I could."

"The two classes of people we want to find," I suggested, "are those who like Sholto so much as to be prepared to steal him, and those who dislike him so much as to be anxious to destroy him."

"You don't think they'll hurt him," she cried, anxiously. "Poor old fellow! It's bad enough his being blind; but I would rather know he was dead than being ill-treated."

"It's much more likely to be the act of some very human person who covets his neighbour's goods," said Garnesk, reassuringly. "But, at the same time, we must not overlook the other possibility. Can you remember anyone who does dislike the dog?"

"Only one," said Myra, thoughtfully, "and I don't think he could have done it. He has a small croft away up above Tor Beag, and Sholto and I were up there one day; but it's months ago. Sholto went nosing round as usual, and the man came out and got very excited in Gaelic—and you know how excited one can be in that language. He was very rude to me about the dog, and it made me rather suspicious. I told daddy about it after."

"Yes, and I hope you won't go wandering about so far from home without saying where you're going in future, my dear; because——" said the old man, and pulled himself up in pained confusion as he realised the tragic significance of his words.

"Some sort of poacher, perhaps," suggested Garnesk, coming quickly to the rescue.

"An illicit whisky still somewhere about, more likely," Myra replied. And as she could think of no other likely person, and the crofter seemed out of the question, we had to confess ourselves puzzled. I had hoped that Myra would have been able to give us some clue with which we could have satisfied her, while we kept our suspicions to ourselves. Then we left Myra with the specialist, who made a temporary examination. In twenty minutes he assured us that he could make nothing of the case, but that he was willing to stake his reputation that there was nothing organically wrong; and he gave us, so far as he dared, distinct reason to hope that she would eventually regain full possession of her lost faculty. So, after general rejoicings all round, in which I quite forgot the mystery of the man who stole the dog, I went to bed feeling ten years younger, and slept like a top.

When I awoke in the morning much of my elation of spirit had evaporated, and I felt again the oppression of surrounding tragedy. I got up immediately—it was just after six—dressed, and went down to bathe. I was strolling down the drive, with a towel round my neck, when Garnesk put his head out of his window and shouted that he would join me. The tide being in, we saved ourselves a walk to the diving-rock, as the point was called, and bathed from the landing-stage. Refreshed by the swim, we determined to scour the country-side for any tracks of the thief.

"What beats me is how anybody in a place like this, where everybody for miles round knows more about you than you do yourself, could get rid of an enormous beast like Sholto. He was big even for a Dane, and his weight must have been tremendous when he was drugged," said Garnesk, as we walked up the beach path. "Have you ever tried to carry a man who's fainted?"

"I have," I answered with feeling, "and I quite agree with you. If the thief wanted to do away with the dog the beast's body is probably somewhere near."

"What about the river?" my companion suggested.

"More likely the loch," I decided, "or the sea. But that would mean a boat, because it would have to be buried in deep water, or the body would be washed up again on the rocks, even with a heavy weight attached. There are many deep pools in the river, but they are constantly fished, and that would lead to eventual detection. We are dealing with a man who knows his way about. It might be the loch or one of the burns, easily."

Accordingly we decided to try the loch first; but though we followed the path from the house, carefully studying the ground every foot of the way, and examined the banks equally carefully, we were forced to the conclusion that we were on the wrong scent. Then we came down one of the burns that runs from the loch to the sea, and met with the same result.

"We'll walk along the beach and go up the next stream," Garnesk suggested. "Hullo," he exclaimed suddenly, as we clambered over the huge rocks into a tiny cove, "there's been a boat in here!"

I looked at the shingly beach, and saw the keel-marks of a boat and the footprints of its occupants in the middle of the cove. We went up gingerly, for fear of disturbing the ground of our investigations. I looked at the marks, and pondered them for a moment. By this time my senses were wide awake.

"What do you make of it?" the oculist asked.

"Well," I replied, with an apologetic laugh, "I'm afraid you'll think me more picturesque than businesslike if I tell you all the conclusions I've already come to; but the man who came ashore in this boat didn't steal Sholto."

"Go on," he said. "Why, I told you I knew you weren't a fool."

"Thank you!" I laughed. "It seems to me that if a man arrived in a boat and went ashore to steal a dog, he would go away again in the same boat."

"And didn't he?"

"I feel convinced he didn't," I replied, and pointed out to him what must have been obvious to both of us. "Compare the keel-marks with high-water mark. There is less than half a boat's length of keel-mark, and it is just up above high-water mark. This craft, which appears to have been a small rowing-boat, was run ashore at high tide, or very near it, and run out again very quickly. It might conceivably have come in and been caught up by the sea. But Sholto was stolen between a quarter past eight and half-past nine, when the tide was well on the way out. If Sholto went out to sea it was not in this boat."

"Well," said Garnesk, thoughtfully, "your point is good enough for me. We must look somewhere else."

"I hope my attempts at detective work will not put us off the scent," I said, doubtfully.

"I don't think they will, Ewart," said my companion, graciously. "Not in this case, anyway. I'm sure you're right, because this bay can be seen from the top windows of the house."

"You evidently reached my conclusions with half the effort in half the time," I laughed.

"Oh, nonsense!" he exclaimed. "It was you who pointed out that the one man in this boat came in daylight."

"Why 'one man' so emphatically?" I asked.

"When two men come in a boat to commit a theft, and only one of them goes ashore, the other would hardly be expected to sit in the boat and twiddle his thumbs. It's a thousand pounds to a penny that he would get out and walk about the beach. Now, only one gentleman came ashore from this boat, and only one got on board again. One set of footprints going and one coming decided me on that. Besides, if anyone came along and saw a solitary man sitting in a boat, they might ask him how his wife and children were, and he would have to reply; whereas an empty boat, being unable to answer questions, would raise no suspicions."

"You seem to be arguing that this boat may have been the one we are looking for," I pointed out; "and yet we are agreed that the state of the tide made it impossible for Sholto to have been taken away in it."

"Yes," said Garnesk, "I agree to that. But I fancy the thief came by that boat. It seems to me that our man jumps out of the boat, runs ashore, and his friend pulls away and picks him up elsewhere—probably nearer the house. It would look perfectly natural for a man who has apparently been giving a companion a pull across from Skye, say, to land him and then go back. The more I think of this the more it interests me. You see, if the top windows of the house can be seen from the bay, it means that the lower windows can be seen from the top of the cliff. If we can find where our thief lay in wait on the cliff and watched the house, probably with his eyes glued on the dining-room windows to see when we commenced dinner, if we can also find where he left his sea-boots while he went to the house, and then where he rejoined his companion, we are getting on."

"What makes you say 'sea-boots'?" I asked. "You can't tell a top-boot by the footmarks."

"Indirectly you can," Garnesk replied, puffing thoughtfully at his pipe. "That boat was pulled in and pushed out by a man who exerted hardly any pressure, although the beach only slopes gently. His companion did not lend a hand by pushing her out with an oar; if he had done so we should have seen the marks, and I couldn't find any. The only other way to account for it is that our friend, who exerted so little pressure, was wearing sea-boots and walked into the water with the boat. Had he been alone, the jerk of his final jump into the boat would have left a deeper impression on the beach. The tide was just going out; it would have no time to wash this mark away. I looked for the mark, and it wasn't there; so I came to the final conclusion that two men arrived in the cove shortly after seven last night in a small open boat. One of them—a tall, left-handed man in sea-boots—pushed the boat out again and went ashore."

I am afraid I was rude enough to shout with laughter at this very definite statement; but it was mainly with excited admiration that I laughed—certainly not with ridicule. Garnesk turned to me apologetically.

"I know it sounds far-fetched, my dear chap," he said; "but we shall have to think a lot over this business, and I am simply thinking aloud in order that you can give me your help in my own conclusions."

"My dear fellow," I cried, "don't, for heaven's sake, imagine that I am laughing at you. It was the left-handed touch that made me guffaw with sheer excitement."

"Well, I think he was left-handed, because the footmarks were going ashore on the right-hand side of the keel-marks, and going seawards on the left-hand side. Jump out of a boat and push it out to sea, and notice which side of the boat you stand by instinct—provided you were doing as he was, pushing on the point of the bows. The fact that his feet obliterate the keel-marks in one place proves that. So now we want to find a left-handed man in sea-boots who knew Sholto was blind"—and he laughed in a half-apology.

"What about these sea-boots," I asked, "and the place we are to find where he left them?"

"We'll look for that now; and if we find it we can be pretty sure our mariner stole the dog."

"You seem to be taking it for granted already," I pointed out.

"The easiest way to prove he didn't is to satisfy ourselves that there's no evidence he did," said the oculist. "But I fancy he did."

"From the way you've sized it up so far I should be inclined to back your fancy," I admitted frankly. "I take it, from your diagnosis, that our nautical friend came ashore here, went up on to the cliff, and glued his eye to the dining-room window. When he saw we were at dinner, and it was getting dusk—in fact, almost dark—he took off his sea-boots and slipped up to the Lodge in his stocking-soles. So if we climb the cliff, we expect to find the spot on which he deposited his boots."

"If we expected that," Garnesk replied, "we should also expect to find his boots; and he wouldn't be likely to leave such incriminating evidence in our hands as that. No, my dear Ewart; when he left the cliff he was wearing his boots, and he left them at some point on the path between the house and his embarking place. Come—let's look."

I was intensely interested in my friend's deductions, and I felt convinced that he was right. So we climbed the cliff, he by one route and I by another, in order to see if we could find any traces of last night's visitor. But that was impossible; the rocks were too storm-swept to harbour any sort of lichen which would have shown evidence of footmarks. Still, we were not disappointed when we reached the top, and Garnesk looked at me with a charming expression of boyish triumph when we came across a patch of ground where the heather had obviously been trampled about and worn down by someone recently lying there.

"I don't think we'll worry about tracing him from here just now," said the specialist. "It would be a very difficult job, and we may as well make for the most likely spot to embark from."

"Right you are," I agreed. "I think there can only be one—that is a secluded little inlet, almost hidden by the rocks on the other side of the house."

"Come on, let's have a look at it," my companion urged; and we blundered down the side of the cliff and hurried along the shore. But when we came to the small bay which I had in mind there was certainly some sign of disturbance among the rough gravel with which the shore was carpeted; and that was all the evidence we could find.

"It is such an ideal spot for the job that this almost knocks our theory on the head," murmured Garnesk ruefully. "There are no boat-marks, or anything."

"Which, in a way, bears out your diagnosis," I cried, suddenly hitting on what I thought to be the solution of the difficulty.

"How, in heaven's name?"

"Our old friend the tide," I declared, with returning confidence.

"Of course," he almost shouted. "I've got you, Ewart. The boat came in here while the tide was going out—when, in fact, it was some distance out, possibly nearly an hour after it ran into the other cove. Since then the tide has come in again and obliterated any marks the men may have made. If we find any evidence on a line running between this place and the house, we can call it a certainty."

In feverish excitement we hurried towards the house, casting anxious glances to right and left, but the stubborn heather showed no sign of any recent passenger that way. At last Garnesk, who was some distance to my right, hailed me with an exultant shout. There, sure enough, was a broad patch bearing marks of recent occupation, much the same as the other at the top of the cliff. We were able easily to distinguish the exact spot where the thief had laid the unconscious dog while he put on his boots. The discovery of an unmistakable footprint in a more marshy spot, which could only have been imprinted by a stockinged foot, completed my friend's triumph.

"My dear fellow," I cried heartily, slapping my companion on the back, "I congratulate you. If you go on like this we shall have the dog and the thief in no time."

"It will be some days, even at this rate," he warned me solemnly, "before we get as far as that. Now, back to the embarking-point, and see if we can reconstruct the thing fully."

So we retraced our steps, and studied the shingle once more, but failed to discover any marks of any value. Then we sat down, and the oculist drew a vivid picture of the journey the thief had made. At last, feeling more than satisfied with our work, we rose to go in to breakfast.

"Ewart, I want you to wire for that friend of yours before you do anything else. You may want him soon. I will leave by the morning train to-morrow, but I shall continue on this case till the mystery is solved. In the meantime, you will need someone you can trust at your side all the time."

"I'll go into Glenelg, and wire immediately after breakfast," I promised. "Hullo, more reflections," I laughed, and pointed to a small, bright object some distance away on the rocks, which was catching the glint of the sun.

"We seem to be surrounded by a spying army of glittering objects," laughed my companion, as we strolled on. We had walked some forty yards when some instinct—I know not what—prompted me to investigate the affair. I turned back, and went to pick up the shining object, though for the life of me I could not have told you what I expected to find.

"Garnesk!" I bawled. "Garnesk! Come here!"

"What is it?" he shouted to me, as he came hurtling over the rocks.

"Look at it," I replied tersely, and placed it in his outstretched palm. He glanced at it, and then at me.

"That settles it," he said, and whistled softly, for I had found a small piece of brass, and on it was engraved:—

"Sholto, The Douglas, Invermalluch Lodge, Inverness-shire."

It was the name-plate from Sholto's collar.



CHAPTER IX.

THE MYSTERY OF SHOLTO.

We discussed our discovery pretty thoroughly on the way back to the house, and both agreed that it left no doubt upon one aspect of this strange affair—the man who stole Sholto was no ordinary thief.

The General was standing on the verandah, looking about for us, as we came up the beach path. I told him of Garnesk's deductions and their interesting result, and the old man was greatly affected.

"I never dreamt I should live to see the old place abused in this shocking manner," he grunted. "'Pon me soul, it's—it's begad disgraceful. I've lived here all my life, on and off, and I've never been troubled with anything like this, scarcely so much as a tramp even. I hope to God it'll soon be over, that's all."

"Thanks to Mr. Garnesk, we're moving along in the right direction," I tried to reassure him. "And we have the satisfaction, in one way, of being able to tell Myra that Sholto is still alive, even if we don't know where he is."

"Seems to me, Ronald," said the General, "you don't know that, or anything about the poor beast, except that he has been stolen, and probably taken away in a boat. Judging by Mr. Garnesk's theory, they probably threw him overboard in deep water."

"No one who intended destroying a dog would take the trouble to wrench the name-plate off his collar," I pointed out. "The dog is alive, and not unconscious. They need his collar to keep him in hand, but they are afraid the plate might give them away. Mr. Garnesk is right, I'm sure, and if we find the thief we find the cause for Myra's terrible misfortune."

"Where do you imagine they can have taken him to then? Seems to me we're getting some pretty queer neighbours."

"That is just what we have to find out," said Garnesk, "and I for one will not rest until I do."

"'Pon my soul, my dear chap," said the old man warmly, "it's very good of you to take so much interest in the affairs of total strangers. It is, indeed, thundering good of you."

"Not at all, General," laughed the visitor. "If you spent your life trying to cure fussy ladies of imaginary eye trouble, without putting it to them that their livers are out of order, you'd welcome this as a very appetising antidote."

"Talking about appetites," his host suggested, "who says breakfast?"

"I fancy we both do," I answered, and we turned indoors.

During breakfast Garnesk announced his determination to devote as much of the day as necessary to an examination of Myra, and then catch the evening train from Mallaig, but the girl herself rose in rebellion at this immediately.

"You mustn't do anything of the sort," she declared emphatically. "Daddy, tell him he's not to. The idea of coming up here, and looking at me, and then going away again! It's ridiculous!"

"I assure you, it is ample reward," declared the oculist gallantly, and everybody laughed at the frank compliment.

"But you must fish the river, have a day on the loch. Ron must take you in the motor-boat up to Kinlochbourn. Then you've simply got to see Scavaig and Coruisk—oh! and a hundred other things besides."

Garnesk insisted that, much as he would like to stay, he felt bound to leave at once, but Myra was equally obstinate; and, as was natural, being a woman, she won on a compromise. Garnesk agreed to stay over the week-end. I was very glad that Myra liked my new friend. She had been very shy of Olvery, but she took an immediate fancy to the Glasgow specialist. She liked his voice, she told me afterwards, and on the second day of his visit she asked him if his sister was very much younger than he. Garnesk looked up in surprise.

"One of them is," he replied, "nearly twenty years. What made you ask?"

"I guessed it by the way you talk to me," Myra declared confidently.

"The detective instinct seems to be in the air," I laughed.

So when I borrowed Angus's ramshackle old cycle, and went into Glenelg along a road which is more noteworthy for its picturesqueness than its navigable qualities, I left Garnesk to his examination with the knowledge that he would do his utmost, and that she would help him all she could.

I wired to Dennis: "I can meet you at Mallaig Monday morning. Wire reply.—RONALD." Then I sent a couple of picture postcards to Tommy and Jack, wishing them luck, and explaining that I had not returned to join them because Myra was ill. I was sure Dennis would appreciate the urgency of my message, but I worded it carefully, deliberately making it appear to be the answer to an inquiry, for the reason that it is always wise to do as little as you can to stimulate local gossip. Anything like "Come at once; most urgent," despatched by one who was known to be a visitor at the lodge, would have set the entire country-side talking. So I jumped on to Angus's collection of old metal, and jolted back again as fast as I could. Garnesk was still engaged with Myra, and I took the opportunity of a chat with her father.

"Would you care to see the discoveries we made this morning?" I asked, when I found him in the library.

"Yes, I should indeed, my boy," he responded eagerly, and I think he was glad of the diversion. "I'll come with you now."

"There is one thing I want to say, sir, before we go any farther."

"What is it?" he asked, looking rather anxiously at me.

"I want to tell you," I said, "that in the event of Myra not regaining her sight I should like your permission to marry her as soon as she herself wishes it. As you know, I have a small private income, which is sufficient for my needs in London, and would be more than I should require up here. If Myra is to be blind, I should like to marry her in order that I may always be able to take care of her, and I should propose to settle down somewhere near you. I dabble in contributory journalism, and I could extend that as far as possible, and I might even do pretty well at it. Both she and you would know then that, in the event of anything happening to you, she would be cared for by someone she loves."

"My dear Ronald," exclaimed the old man, affectionately laying a hand on my shoulder, "I'm very glad to hear you say that. As a matter of fact, whatever happens, I don't care how soon you marry my dear girl. She wants it with all her heart, and I have always been fond of you myself. The only thing that has held me back up to now is the question of money, and, possibly, a little selfishness. I'm not a rich man, as you know, and if it were not for my pension I couldn't even live in my father's house. But now my one desire is to see my poor little girl happy, and we'll scrape together a shilling or two somehow. Shake hands, my boy."

We both of us forgot all about the terrible war, and, naturally enough, the mysterious trouble which faced us then was sufficient for the moment. Having settled that question at last, I conducted the old man to the small cove where we had made our first discovery, but we began by visiting the coach-house. I daresay that to the trained eye there may have been valuable evidence lying under our very noses, but the only confused marks which we found on the surrounding ground conveyed nothing to either of us. Later, on our way back to the house, from what we now called "the embarking-point," we came upon a spot where the heather had been cut off in fairly large quantities. The old man stood, and contemplated the shorn stumps for a moment, and shook his head solemnly. It was not that he had any sentimental regret for the heather which grew on almost every inch of ground for hundreds of miles round, but he objected to the sign of visitors, or, as he would have said, "trippers."

"Who would want to cut heather here?" I asked, for I could not see the slightest reason for gathering anything which could be obtained at your door wherever you lived in the Highlands.

"Holiday-makers," he said ruefully. "They take rooms in the village, and get it into their heads that the heather in one spot is better than anything else for miles round, so they walk out to that spot, and cut some to take away with them when they go back home. I wish they'd always go back home and stop there."

When I showed the General the keel-marks in the cove and explained to him in detail how Garnesk had arrived at his conclusions, the old man was quite awed.

"'Pon me soul, he must be thundering clever, thundering clever," he muttered. "But it's not healthy, you know, Ronald; in fact, it's begad unhealthy. I've always been a bit scared of these people who see things that are not there. Still, I suppose it's the modern way; reading all these detective yarns and so on does it, no doubt."

He was still marvelling at this new mystery when we got back to the house to find Myra sitting on the verandah with the specialist, who was keeping her in fits of laughter with anecdotes of some of his wealthy women patients.

He sprang up as he saw us approaching, and ran down to meet us.

"I'm certain of one thing," he said excitedly, as he walked between us, and answered the General's question. "We have got to solve the mystery, and she will see again. This is something new, but it has a very simple solution, which we must find out by hook or by crook. When I know how Miss McLeod lost her sight I shall very likely be able to find out how to restore it, and I shall also know something that perhaps no other oculist has ever dreamed of. There isn't the slightest sign of any organic disease, which probably means that Nature will assert herself, and she will eventually regain her sight naturally. But we mustn't wait for that. We've got to be up and doing. I tell you, sir, I wouldn't have missed this for anything. Have you been exploring?"

"We've been having a look at those marks which meant so much to you and conveyed nothing whatever to me, although I was once considered something of a scout," the General admitted.

"Did you find anything fresh?"

"No, only some trippers, as the General calls them, had been cutting heather," I replied.

"That's not likely to help us much," the oculist agreed, "unless they were not trippers at all, and were cutting the heather as a blind. What were they like?"

"Oh, we didn't see them. We only saw the results of their iconoclasm. The heather was recently, but not freshly, cut," I replied, and the old man glanced at me with some slight suspicion, as if he feared I, too, was about to take up the deduction business.

"Recent, but not fresh?" muttered Garnesk.

"Now, why should a man who wanted——Good heavens! I've got it."

"What are you dear people getting so excited about?" Myra asked, for by this time we had almost reached the verandah.

"We'll tell you in a minute, dear," I called, and waited for Garnesk to explain.

"Of course," he continued, as if thinking aloud, "it's obvious. The man came ashore in a small boat, picked some heather, and carried it in his arms. Anyone who noticed him would have noticed his load of heather. Then he stole Sholto, concealed him under the heather, and was still apparently only carrying a bundle of innocent heath. Why! they seem to have thought of everything, and made no mistake."

"Except that the man was wandering about the country-side, gathering wild flowers, in his stockinged soles," I pointed out.

"Still, it was almost dark, and he chanced that," said Garnesk.

"What I don't understand about it is this," the General joined in: "Where did he come from to gather this heather? A man must know that if he is seen to come ashore and pick heather and get into his boat again he is doing a very curious thing. That boat can only have come from Knoydart or Skye at the farthest, and everybody knows you wouldn't take heather there."

"Yes, I'm afraid you're right, General," Garnesk admitted, with a sigh of regret, and I was compelled to agree with him.

"I know where he came from, then."

It was said so quietly that it startled us all, though it was Myra who spoke.

"Where, then?" we all asked together.

"He must have come from a yacht."



CHAPTER X.

THE SECRET OF THE ROCK.

We made exhaustive inquiries everywhere, but no one had seen a yacht anchored or otherwise resting off the point the previous night. One or two vessels had been noticed passing the mouth of Loch Hourn during the evening, but they were mostly recognisable as belonging to residents in the neighbourhood, and in any case not one of them had been seen to drop the two men in a boat who were causing us so much anxiety. When Garnesk and I went up the river to the Chemist's Rock we were equally unsuccessful there.

"Look here," I said, "suppose you were to go blind, Mr. Garnesk? I can't allow you to run any risks of that sort. We have every reason to know that there is something gruesome and uncanny about this spot, and I should feel happier if you would keep at a safe distance."

"How about yourself?" he replied.

"It's a personal affair with me," I pointed out, "but I can't let your kindness in assisting us as you are doing run the length of possible blindness."

"Nonsense, my dear fellow," he exclaimed; "we're in this together. I am just as keen to get to the bottom of this matter as you are. But it behoves us both to be careful. It is most important that you should take care of yourself at the present moment. What would happen to Miss McLeod if I carried you back to the house in a state of total blindness?"

"Oh, I shall be all right," I declared confidently. "But, of course, your point is a good one, and I shall not run any risks."

"And yet you start by careering up the river here when we have very excellent reasons for supposing that it is hardly the place to spend a quiet afternoon."

"You don't really believe that there is anything curious about the river itself, do you?" I asked. "We have agreed that some human agency is responsible for the tragic affliction that has fallen upon poor Myra. In that case we are not safe anywhere."

"That's true enough," he agreed, "but everything that has happened so far has happened here. Sooner or later, no doubt, the operations will be extended to some other region, but at present we know there is a possibility of our being overcome by some strange peril between the Chemist's Rock and Dead Man's Pool."

"Well, as we don't know how to deal with the danger when it does arrive," I suggested, "suppose we see as much as we can from the banks. I will go up the centre of the stream and report to you, if you like, but you stay here."

"You'll do nothing of the sort," he cried. "I can't imagine what we can possibly learn by standing on that rock, but if either of us goes, we go together, or I, in my capacity of bachelor unattached, go alone."

Naturally, I could only applaud such generous sentiments, and at the same time refuse to countenance his proposal. So we sat among the heather, some distance above the bank, and awaited developments.

"It is four-twenty now," said my companion presently, looking at his watch. "If anything is going to happen it should happen soon."

"Don't you think it was mere coincidence that Myra's blindness and the General's strange illusion occurred about this time? Why should this green ray only be visible between four and five?"

"It hasn't really been visible at all," Garnesk pointed out. "Miss McLeod saw a green flash, and the General saw a green rock, which had taken upon itself the responsibilities of transportation. That's all we know about the green ray, except the green veil that Miss McLeod tells us of. I don't expect to see that."

"I wish I knew what we did expect to see," I sighed.

"Exactly," he replied solemnly. "By the way," he added after a pause, "do you see anything peculiar about the rocks or the pool between four and five; I mean anything that you couldn't notice at any other time of the day?"

"Nothing at all," I answered despondently; "it is pleasanter here then than at any other time—or was until we came under this mysterious spell."

"Why is it pleasanter?" he asked.

"It is just then that it gets most sunshine," I pointed out.

I made the remark idly enough, for the course of the river, with its rugged banks and great massive rocks, looked particularly beautiful as the sun streamed full upon it, and I was immeasurably surprised when Garnesk jumped to his feet with a shout.

"What is it?" I cried in alarm. "You're not——"

"The sun, Ewart, the sun!" he exclaimed, and, snatching a pair of binoculars which I carried in my hand, he dashed up the slope to the foot of a cliff that overhung the stream. I gazed after him for a moment in astonishment, and then set out in pursuit.

"Stop where you are, man!" he called to me as he turned, and saw me tearing after him. "No, no; I want you there. Don't follow me."

I did as I was told, for I trusted him implicitly, and I knew that he would not run any risk without first acquainting me of his intention, and I took it for granted that he had arranged a part for me to play, although he had not had time to tell me what it was. But my astonishment increased as I watched him climb the rock, for when he arrived a few feet from the summit he sat down on a ledge and calmly lighted a cigarette!

"What is it all about?" I called to him, when I had fully recovered from my surprise.

"I only wanted to have a look at the view," he laughed back, and put the glasses to his eyes. First he examined the house, and then he turned his gaze in the direction of the sea. It was then that it dawned on me that he was looking for a yacht. This was the fateful hour, and it had naturally struck him that the unknown yacht might be in the vicinity.

"Well," I shouted, "can you see the yacht?"

"No," he replied, "there's nothing in sight, only a paddle steamer; looks like an excursion of some sort."

"Oh! that's the Glencoe," I explained; "she won't help us at all. She runs with tourists from Mallaig."

"She seems to be barely able to take care of herself," he laughed. "I shouldn't like to be on her in a storm."

We conversed fairly easily while he was on the cliff, for we were not many yards apart, and I began to wonder when he was coming down again.

"Have you any objection to my joining you?" I asked presently, as there seemed to be nothing for me to do below.

"Stop where you are for a bit, old man," he advised. "I shall be down in a minute."

"As long as you like," I replied. "You've got a fine view from there, anyway. Don't worry about me."

I sat down on a rock, refilled my pipe, and prepared to wait till he rejoined me.

"Hi! Ewart!" he called presently, for my mind had already wandered to that darkened "den" at the house.

"Hullo," I answered, jumping to my feet. "What is it?"

"Do you notice anything unusual?"

"No," I shouted, "nothing that——," but suddenly I felt a strange singing in my ears, my pulses quickened, my voice died away into nothing. I looked up at Garnesk; he was leaning perilously near the edge of the cliff waving to me. I saw his lips move, yet I heard no sound. My heart was thumping against my chest with audible beats. I looked round me in every direction. No, there was nothing strange happening that the eye could see, yet here was I with a choking pulsation in my throat. My temples too were throbbing like a couple of steam hammers. Again I looked up at Garnesk; he was climbing hurriedly down the cliff. He paused and waved to me, and again his lips moved, and again I heard nothing.

Surely, I told myself, the events of the past few days had told on my strength. This was nerves, sheer nerves. Garnesk must give me his arm to the house. I would lie down and rest, and I should be all right in a few moments. It was nerves, that was all. But if Garnesk were not very quick about it I should have burst a blood-vessel in my brain before he reached me. Already my chest seemed to have swelled to twice its size. Garnesk, as I looked, seemed to be farther off than ever, a tiny speck in the distance.

The singing in my ears became a rushing torrent. It was the waterfall, I told myself; how stupid of me! Of course I should be all right in a minute. But my friend must hurry. I collapsed on the rock and gasped for breath. I looked for Garnesk. Still he seemed to be as far away as ever, and he scarcely seemed to be moving at all. I must tell him to be quick. It was simply nerves, of course; but I mustn't let them get the better of me, or what would poor Myra do? I staggered to my feet to call to Garnesk.

"Hurry up; I'm not well." I framed the words in my brain, but no sound passed my lips. I struggled for breath, and called again with all the power I could muster. I could not hear myself speak. And then I understood! My knees rocked beneath me, the river swirled round me, a rowan tree rushed by me in a flash, and as I fell sprawling on my face among the heather a thousand hammers seemed to pound the hideous sickening truth into the heaving pulp that was once my brain.



CHAPTER XI.

HOW THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENED.

When I came to myself I was lying with my head pillowed on Garnesk's arm. My coat and collar were on the ground beside me, and my head and shoulders were dripping with water.

"Ah!" said my companion, with a sigh of relief, "that's better. You'll be all right in a few minutes, Ewart. Take it easy, old chap, and rest."

"Where am I?" I asked. "Good heavens!" I exclaimed, as I heard my own voice, and sat bolt upright in my astonishment, "I thought I was dumb!"

"Well, never mind about that now, old fellow," Garnesk advised. "We'll hear all about that later. Shut your eyes and rest a minute."

"All right," I agreed, "pass me my pipe and I will."

Garnesk laughed aloud as he leaned over to reach my coat pocket.

"When a man shouts for his pipe he's a long way from being dead or dumb or anything else," he said.

Truth to tell, I was feeling very queer. I was dizzy and confused, but I felt that I wanted my pipe to help me collect my thoughts. So I lay there for some minutes quietly smoking, and indeed I felt as if I could have stayed like that for ever.

"I must have fainted," I explained presently, overlooking the fact that Garnesk probably knew more about my ridiculous seizure than I did myself. "I don't know when I did a thing like that before," I added, beginning to get angry with myself.

"Well, I hope you won't do it again," said my friend fervently. "It's not a thing to make a hobby of. And don't you come near this infernal river any more until we know something definite."

"You mean that the place has got on my nerves," I said. "I suppose it has; I'm very sorry."

"Do you feel well enough to tell me all about it?" he asked, "or would you rather wait till we get up to the house?"

"Oh, I'll tell you now," I agreed readily. "We mustn't say anything about this at the house." So I told him exactly how I had felt.

"When did it first come on?" he asked.

"When I heard you shout, and jumped up to see what it was. By the way, what was it?"

"Well," he replied, "we'll discuss the matter if you wouldn't mind releasing my arm?"

"My dear fellow," I cried, sitting up suddenly, as I realised that he was still propping up my head, "I'm most awfully sorry."

"Now then," he said, as he lighted his pipe and made himself comfortable, "we'll go into the latest development. You remember what made me rush off and leave you there?"

"I remember saying something about the sunlight, and you suddenly dashed off."

"To tell you the truth, I had very little faith in the theory that at this hour, above all, the spook of the Chemist's Rock was active, until you pointed out that only about that time is the whole of the river course up to the rock, and the whole of the rock itself, flooded with sunlight. Then, when you made that remark, I suddenly felt that I ought to be on the cliff on the look out for this unknown yacht. We connect the two together in some way which we don't yet understand, so I meant to go and have a look for the ship. I saw nothing of any importance until I shouted to you. Just then I was looking through the glasses at the shore. I turned them on the landing-stage and along the beach, and I had just lighted on the bay where we explored this morning when suddenly, for half a second or so, all the shadows of the rocks turned a vivid green, and then as suddenly resumed their natural colour again."

"Good heavens!" I exclaimed. "Green again! Can you make anything of it at all, Garnesk? I'm sorry I'm such a duffer as to faint at the critical moment, when I might have been of some assistance to you. What in God's name can it all mean?"

"I'm no further on," he replied bitterly; "in fact, I'm further back."

"Further back!" I cried. "How? I don't see how you can be."

"I'll tell you what my theory was about all this affair, and it struck me as a good one—strange, of course, but then, this is a strange business."

"It is, indeed," I agreed ruefully. "Well, go on."

"I had an idea, Ewart, that we should find some sort of wireless telegraphy at the bottom of this business. I had almost made up my mind that we had stumbled across the path of some inventor who was working with a new form of wireless transmission. I felt that in that way we might account for Miss McLeod's blindness and the blindness of the dog. It also seemed to hold good as to the disappearance of Sholto. The inventor hears of the extraordinary effect of his invention, and is afraid he will get into a mess if it is found out. The yacht to experiment from fitted in beautifully. But now all that's knocked on the head."

"Why?" I asked. "It seems to me, Garnesk, that you are doing all the thinking in this affair, as if you had been used to it all your life. Your only trouble is that you're too modest. I take it that because you didn't see the yacht when you noticed the green flash you are taking it for granted you were wrong to expect it. I must say, old chap, I think you've done thundering well, as the General would put it, and even if you are prepared to admit your theory has been knocked on the head I'm not—at any rate, not until I have a jolly good reason. Yet it doesn't seem to matter much what I say or do if I'm going to faint like a girl at the first sign of danger. If you hadn't come to my rescue I might still be lying there waiting to come round, or something," I finished in disgust.

My companion looked at me thoughtfully.

"Ewart," he said, and solemnly shook his head, "you have brought me to the very thing that made me say my theory was exploded."

"What thing?" I asked. "Surely my fainting can't have made any difference to conclusions you had already come to?"

"But then you see," my friend replied, "you didn't faint. And if I had not seen you were in difficulties you would probably never have recovered."

"Didn't faint?" I exclaimed. "Well, I don't know what the medical term for it is, and I daresay there are several technical phrases for the girlish business I went through. That idea of being dumb was simply imagination, but I assure you it was just what I should call a fainting fit."

"I don't want to alarm you if you're not feeling well," he began apologetically.

"Go on," I urged. "I'm as fit as I ever was."

"Well," the young specialist responded, in a serious tone, "if you want to know the truth, Ewart, you were suffocated."

"Suffocated!" I shouted, jumping to my feet. "What in heaven's name do you mean?"

"I can't tell you exactly what I mean because I don't know, but yours was certainly not an ordinary fainting fit. To put the whole thing in non-medical terms, you were practically drowned on dry land!"

I sat down again—heavily at that. Should we never come to an end of these mysterious attacks which were hurled at us in broad daylight from nowhere at all?

"I'm not sure that you hadn't better rest before we go into this fully, Ewart," Garnesk remarked doubtfully. "You're not by any means as fit as you've ever been, in spite of your emphatic assurance."

"Tell me what you think, why you think it, and what you feel we ought to do. Why, man, Myra might have been here alone, with no one to rescue her and—and——"

"Quite so," said Ewart sympathetically. "So you must comfort yourself with the knowledge that it may be a great blessing that she has temporarily lost her sight. Now, I say you didn't faint, because, medically, I know you didn't. For the same reason I say you were suffocating as surely as if you had been drowning. Hang it, my dear chap, it's my line of business, you know. I can't account for it, but there is the naked fact for you."

"How does this affect your previous conclusions?" I asked. "Before you tell me what you think brought on this suffocation I should like to hear why you give up your theory."

"Simply because no wireless, or other electric current, could have that effect upon you. If you had had an electric shock in any of its many curious forms I could have said it bore me out; but, you see, it's impossible. And, as I refuse to believe that we are continually bumping into new mysteries which have no connection with each other, it follows that if this suffocation was not caused by the supposed wireless experiments, the other can't have been either."

"I'm not making the slightest imputation on your medical knowledge," I ventured, "but are you absolutely certain that you are not mistaken?"

"My dear fellow," he laughed, "for goodness sake don't be so apologetic. I can quite see that you find it difficult to believe. But I am prepared to swear to it all the same. For one thing, the symptoms were unmistakable; for another, it seems impossible that we should both faint at exactly the same time and place for no reason at all."

"You didn't faint too, surely?" I cried.

"No," he admitted, "but we might very easily have been suffocated together—smothered as surely as the princes in the Tower. When I saw you were in difficulties I shouted to you. Obviously you didn't hear me. I naturally didn't wait to see what would happen to you; I cleared down the cliff, and sprinted to you as fast as I could. When I came to within about twenty yards of you I found a difficulty in breathing. I went on for a couple of paces, and realised that the air was almost as heavy as water. So I rushed back, undid my collar, took a deep breath; and bolted in to you, picked you up, and carted you here. Voila! But I very nearly joined you on the ground, and then we would never have regained consciousness, either of us. I applied the simplest form of artificial respiration to you, dowsed your head, and now you're all right. On the whole, Ewart, we can consider ourselves very well out of this latest adventure."

"What you're really telling me," I pointed out gratefully, "is that you saved my life at the risk of your own. I'm no good at making speeches, or anything of that sort, Garnesk, but I thank you, if you know what that means. And Myra will——"

"Not a word to her, Ewart," my companion interrupted eagerly. "Whatever you do, don't on any account worry that poor girl with this new complication. Anything on earth but that."

"No," I agreed; "you're right there. Myra must be kept in the dark."

"Yes," he replied, with a look of relief. "It might have a serious effect on her chances of recovery if she had this additional worry. And I don't think it would be advisable to tell the old man either. I think we had better keep it to ourselves absolutely. Tell no one, Ewart, except your friend when he comes."

"Very well," I answered, for I was very anxious to spare both Myra and her father from the knowledge of any further trouble. "I'll tell Dennis when he comes, but otherwise it is our secret."

"Good," said Garnesk. "Now put your coat on, old chap, and we'll stroll back to the house."

I got up and buttoned my collar, retied my bow, and slipped into my jacket. I was rather uncomfortably damp, and I felt a bit shaky and queer, and decided that I could do with a complete rest from the mysteries of the green ray. But the subject remained uppermost in my mind, and my tired brain still strove to unravel the tangled threads of the puzzle.

"By the way," I said, as we walked slowly up to the house, "you have not yet explained what there was in my remark about the sunlight that made you think of the yacht."

"Well," he replied, "you see I had an idea that perhaps they might come here when the gorge, through which the river flows, was flooded with light, so that they could see if any strange effects were produced. But that suffocation was not brought about by any electrical experiment, and I am beginning to be afraid that, after all, we may be up against some strange natural phenomena, some terrible combination of the forces of Nature, which has not yet been observed, or at any rate recorded."

"Why afraid?" I asked, for although I had been glad to believe that we were faced with a problem which would prove to have a human solution, the revulsion had come, and I should have welcomed the knowledge that some weird, freakish application of natural power might be held accountable.

"Afraid?" queried Garnesk, with a note of surprise. "I am very often afraid of Nature. She is a devoted slave, but a cruel mistress. I don't think that I should ever be very much scared by a human being, even in his most fiendish aspect, but Nature—I tell you, Ewart, there are things in Nature that make me shudder!"

"Yes," I agreed heavily, "you're right, of course. That's how I have felt for the past twenty-four hours. It was a tremendous relief to me to feel that we were men looking for men. But the last few minutes I have had an idea that it would be comforting to explain it all out of a text-book of physics. Still, you're right. It is better far to be men fighting men than to be puny molecules tossed in the maelstrom of immutable power which created the world, and may one day destroy it."

"I'm glad you agree," he said simply. "You see you could not possibly live for a second in electrically produced atmosphere which was so thick that you couldn't hear yourself speak. Death would be instantaneous. It couldn't have been our unknown professor's wireless experiments after all. Yet it seems impossible that a sudden new power should crop up suddenly at one spot like this. Imagine what would happen if this had occurred in a city, in a crowded street. Hundreds would have been stricken blind, then hundreds would have been suffocated. Vehicles would have run amok, and the result would have been an indescribable chaos of the maimed, mangled and distraught. A flash like this green ray (which blinded Miss McLeod and her dog, deluded the General, and nearly suffocated us) at the mouth of a harbour, say, the entrance to a great port—Liverpool, London, or Glasgow—would be responsible for untold loss of life. If this terrible phenomenon spread, Ewart, it would paralyse the industry of the world in twenty-four hours. If it spread still farther the face of the globe would become the playing-fields of Bedlam in a moment. Think of the result of this everywhere! Some suffocated, some blinded, and millions probably mad and sightless, stumbling over the bodies of the dead to cut each other's throats in the frenzy of sudden imbecility."

"Don't, Garnesk," I begged. "It won't bear thinking about. We have enough troubles here to deal with without that!"

"Yes," my companion admitted, "we need not add to them by any idle conjectures of still more hideous horrors to come. But it is an interesting, if terrible speculation. And it means one thing to us, Ewart, of the very greatest importance. We must solve the riddle somehow."

"You mean," I cried, as I realised the tremendous import of his words—"you mean that the sanity of the universe may rest with us! You mean that if we can solve this riddle we, or others, may be able to devise some means of prevention, or at least protection? You mean that we are in duty bound to keep at this night and day until we find out what it is?"

"That is just what I do mean," he replied seriously. "It is a solemn duty; who knows, it may be a holy trust. Ewart, we agree to get to the bottom of this? We have agreed once, but are we still prepared to go on with this now that we know we may be crushed in the machinery that controls the solar system and lights the very sun?"

"I shall certainly go on," I replied eagerly. "But we can hardly expect you to run risks on our behalf."

"It may be in the interests of civilisation," he answered, "and in that case it is our duty. Now look here, Ewart, this will have to be a secret. It is essential that we should not get ourselves laughed at because, for one thing, the scoffers may get into serious trouble if they start investigating our assertions in a spirit of levity. You and I must keep this to ourselves entirely. What about your friend?"

"I can trust him," I replied simply.

"Then tell him everything," Garnesk advised. "If you know you can rely upon him he may be of great assistance to us."

"What about Hilderman?" I asked. "He knows a good deal already."

"There is no need for him to know any more. He may be of some use to us. I had thought he might be of the greatest use, but he may be able to help us still. We should decrease, rather than augment, his usefulness by telling him these new complications."

"How do you mean?" I asked.

"Well, for instance, he might think we are mad, although he's a very shrewd fellow."

"Yes," I agreed, "I think he's pretty cute. Funny that Americans so often are. Anyway, he's been cute enough to make sufficient to retire on at a fairly early age, and retire comfortably too."

"H'm," was my companion's only comment.

After dinner that evening we discussed all sorts of subjects, mainly the war, of course, and went to bed early.

"Now, Ron," exclaimed Myra, as we said good-night, "if Mr. Garnesk is really going to leave us on Monday, you mustn't let him worry about things to-morrow. Do let him have one day's holiday while he is with us, anyway."

"I will," I agreed. "We'll have a real holiday to-morrow. Suppose we all go up Loch Hourn in the motor-boat in the afternoon?"