The Greatest Historical Novels & Romances of D. K. Broster. D. K. Broster

Mr. Grant, that Mr. Cameron found it necessary to run so far and to tell so many lies on Saturday, then he must be greatly mortified at seeing you here now. I doubt if it was for you that he went through all that. But if, on the other hand, you were the cause of his performances, then your visit cannot have been so innocuous as you pretend.”

      Hector was seen to frown. This officer was too sharp. He had outlined a nasty dilemma, and the young Highlander hardly knew upon which of its horns to impale himself and Ewen.

      The Colonel now turned heavily upon Ardroy.

      “Is this young man your brother-in-law, Mr. Cameron?”

      “Certainly he is, sir.”

      “And he did stay at your house upon a visit?”

      Awkward to answer, that, considering the nature of Hector’s ‘stay’ and its exceeding brevity. Hector himself prudently looked out of a window. “Yes, he did pay me a visit.”

      “And when did he arrive?”

      Ewen decided that on the whole truth was best. “Last Monday evening.”

      “I should be glad to know for what purpose he came.”

      “You have heard, sir. He is, I repeat, my wife’s brother.”

      “But that fact, Mr. Cameron,” said Colonel Leighton weightily, “does not render him immune from suspicion, especially when one considers his profession. He is a Jacobite, or he would not be in the service of the King of France.”

      “You know quite well, sir,” countered Ewen, “that the King of France has by treaty abandoned the Jacobite cause.”

      “Was it on Mr. Grant’s account that you behaved as you did on Saturday?” pressed the Colonel.

      But Ewen replying that he did not feel himself bound to answer that question, the commanding officer turned to Hector again. “On what day, Mr. Grant, did you terminate your visit to Mr. Cameron?”

      “On the day that your men invaded his house—Saturday,” answered Hector, driven to this unfortunate statement by a desire to give colour to Ewen’s ‘performances’ on that day.

      “But Mr. Cameron has just told us that ‘Mr. Sinclair’ left the previous day—Friday,” put in Captain Jackson quickly, and Hector bit his lip. Obviously, it had a very awkward side, this ignorance of what Ewen had already committed himself to.

      Captain Jackson permitted himself a smile. “At any rate, you were at Ardroy on Thursday, and saw Doctor Kincaid when he went to visit the sick child.”

      This Hector was uncertain whether to deny or avow. He therefore said nothing.

      “But since you are trying to make us believe that you are the mysterious ‘Mr. Sinclair’ from Caithness who was treating him,” pursued Captain Jackson, “you must have seen Doctor Kincaid.”

      “I see no reason why I should not have done what I could for my own nephew,” answered Hector, doubling off on a new track.

      “Quite so,” agreed Captain Jackson. “Then, since your visit was purely of a domestic character, one may well ask why Mr. Cameron was at such pains on that occasion to pass you off, not as a relation, but as a friend from the North? . . . And why were you then so much older, a man in the forties, instead of in the twenties, as you are to-day?”

      “Was there so much difference in my appearance?” queried Hector innocently. “I was fatigued; I had been sitting up all night with the sick child.”

      “Pshaw—we are wasting time!” declared Captain Jackson. “This is not ‘Mr. Sinclair’!” And the Colonel echoed him with dignity. “No, certainly not.”

      “Is not Doctor Kincaid in the fort this morning sir?” asked the Captain, leaning towards him.

      “I believe he is. Go and request him to come here at once, if you please, Mr. Burton,” said the Colonel to the subaltern who had brought Hector in. “And then we shall settle this question once for all.”

      By this time Ewen had resumed his seat. Hector, his hands behind his back, appeared to be whistling a soundless air between his teeth. It was impossible to say whether he were regretting his fruitless effort—for plainly it was going to be fruitless—but at all events he was showing a good front to the enemy.

      Doctor Kincaid hurried in, with his usual air of being very busy. “You sent for me, Colonel?”

      “Yes, Doctor, if you please. Have you seen this young man before—not Mr. Cameron of Ardroy here, but the other?”

      “Perhaps Doctor Kincaid does not greatly care to look at me,” suggested Ewen.

      The doctor threw him a glance. “I had ma duty to do, Ardroy.” Then he looked, as desired, at the younger prisoner. “Losh, I should think I had seen him before! God’s name, young man, you’re gey hard in the heid! ’Tis the lad I found half-doited on Loch Treig side Tuesday nicht syne wi’ a dunt in it of which yon’s the sign!” He pointed to the bandage.

      “Tuesday night, you say, Doctor?” asked Captain Jackson.

      “Aye, Tuesday nicht, I mind well it was. I was away up Loch Treig the day to auld MacInnes there.”

      Captain Jackson turned on Hector. “Perhaps, Mr. Grant,” he suggested, “you were lightheaded from this blow when you thought you were at Ardroy till Saturday.”

      “And what’s to prevent me having been carried there at my brother-in-law’s orders?” queried Hector.

      “ ’Tis true that Ardroy spoke of doing that,” admitted Doctor Kincaid. “He speired after the young man the day I was at his hoose. But yon was the Thursday.”

      “Mr. Cameron says that Mr. Grant came to Ardroy on the Monday, and Mr. Grant himself states that he stayed there until Saturday. Yet on Tuesday, Doctor, you find him twenty miles away with a broken head. And he has the effrontery to pretend that he was the ‘Mr. Sinclair’ whom you saw in the sick child’s room at Ardroy on the Thursday!”

      “Set him up!” exclaimed the doctor scornfully. “The man I saw then, as I’ve told you, Colonel, was over forty, a tall, comely man, and fair-complexioned to boot. And I told you who that man was, in my opeenion—Doctor Erchibald Cameron, the Jacobite, himself—and for this callant to seek to pretend to me that he was yon ‘Sinclair’ is fair flying in the face of such wits as Providence has gien me. Ye’d better keep him here for treatment of his ain!” And on that, scarce waiting for dismissal, Doctor Kincaid took himself off again.

      “Doctor Kincaid’s advice is sound, don’t you think, Colonel?” observed Captain Jackson with some malice. “And as the roads do not seem over safe for this young man, egad, ’twere best to keep him off them for a while.”

      “Your fine redcoats don’t seem able to make ’em safe, certainly,” retorted Mr. Grant.

      “Come, come,” said Colonel Leighton impatiently, “we’ve had enough of bandying words. One thing is quite plain: Mr. Cameron and his kinsman here are both in collusion to shield someone else, and that person has probably been correctly named by Doctor Kincaid. Have Mr. Cameron taken back. You can put Mr. Grant in the same room with him, for the present at any rate.”

      (2)

      “My dear Hector!” began Ardroy, half-laughing, half-sighing, when the door of that locality was shut on them.

      “Oh, I know what you are going to say, Ewen!” Hector did not let him say it in consequence. “Yes, I’ve done no good—I may even have done harm—but I could not stay a free man when I had brought all this trouble upon you . . . as I have done—don’t shake your head! But I had a faint hope that I could gull them into some sort of an exchange. At any rate, I have brought you all kinds of messages from Alison.”

      “You