Sometimes we walked and sometimes we trotted in step side by side, her arm through mine, where I had persuaded it to venture, and where it thrilled me by remaining. Personally I was not in the least anxious to bring our errand to an early end, but Jean was fired with zeal to astonish my relations by the speed with which we brought reinforcements, and so, trot and walk, we hurried down the frosted road through that black March night, talking, talking, almost every step of the way.

It was she who began as soon as we were clear of the farm.

“Are your uncle and Captain Whiteclett going back tonight?” she asked anxiously, and when I said I didn’t know, she cried, “Well then I must come back and see them in case they go. There has been no time to explain and they must be told that it was simply my stupidity that prevented you from catching Jock sooner!”

“Your⁠—what?” I exclaimed.

“Yes, I ought to have seen that you didn’t know he wasn’t one of the family!” she insisted. “And that was one of the reasons why I went and interfered again when I’d vowed I wouldn’t. I thought if you didn’t suspect him, perhaps I was wrong, and if I had been, you’d never have trusted my ‘guesses’ again; so I wanted to get some proof to show you. But all the credit is really yours.”

Our debate on this point was too one-sided to be worth recording. And yet though my arguments were irresistible, she would persist⁠—and persists to this day⁠—that somehow or other I unmasked Jock the spy.

“Well, let’s leave it at that,” I said at last. “Disguised as Miss Rendall, alone I did it! And now tell me what made you suspect the man?”

“It was only when you told me about meeting him by the cliffs on the day of the murder that I suddenly thought of Bolton’s discovery and then I saw that he must have meant Jock. At least I guessed, but I knew it would seem the wildest idea until there was a little more proof, and so I determined to make a few enquiries and then tell you at once if there seemed to be anything in my idea. So next morning I went to the Scollays and paid them a friendly visit and began talking about Jock and his habits and movements, and I found he had disappeared for a good part of that day when Bolton was murdered. I also found he was often out at nights, and that he kept that locked box in the barn.”

“So you felt sure?”

“I would have if you hadn’t made me rather less confident about my guesses. Still, I’d have told you next morning, only when you showed me that pocketbook you seemed so positive that you quite shook me. And then I determined to go myself and break into the box and see if I could find some proof.”

“That’s the one thing I can’t quite forgive you for; running all that risk by yourself!”

“But that was just the point! I had somehow got it into my head that since I had found you out, perhaps he had too, and I remembered what happened to Bolton, and I couldn’t let you run the risk when it was quite safe for me!”

“Quite safe!” I exclaimed. “Quite safe if he had caught you opening his box?”

“Oh, one has to run a little risk,” she admitted. “But I knew unless he actually caught me he would never suspect me.”

“Well,” I said, “everyone has his own idea of what’s a soft job. But you did think it worth wiring for my cousin?”

“Believe me,” she said earnestly, “I only really decided to do that after you had gone back and I couldn’t consult you! I did think of it while you were with me, but you were so positive that there was no need for wiring that I thought you might absolutely refuse to let me in any case⁠—”

“And so you decided to decide after I had gone? I see! Well, all I can say is I have been very judiciously handled.”

“You are frightfully good-natured!” she declared, apparently in all sincerity.

I had given up debating my virtues by this time.

“It’s this sea air,” I said modestly, and enjoyed the delicious sensation of trying to see her smile in the dark, and imagining how sweet she would look if it were lighter.

Going over each incident together as we hurried down the island that night, I was glad to find, however, one part of my conduct which events had thoroughly justified. If on that first night I had not instantly assumed the role of a fellow Hun, I assuredly should not have been walking with Jean Rendall now. Undoubtedly I had kept my enemy thinking up till that unfortunate Sunday afternoon when I had made my fatal blunder of trying to enlist the gabbling Jock as an ally, or I should have been dead long before then.

“You guessed right,” I said. “That was when I gave myself away⁠—only it was not to anyone behind a wall! And do you know I believe the fellow actually tried me with the proper answer for the sheep riddle, only I could make nothing out of it. Was I an idiot, or would anyone have done the same?”

“Anyone!” she said with conviction. “And don’t you think I was right now about the reason why he stopped firing next day?”

“I begin to think you were. He was cunning enough to see that it wasn’t worth while running any risks, when he could probably get a sitting shot next time. And he would have got me if you hadn’t arrested me. Heavens! To think of that man single-handed defying the British Navy and the British Police and actually making it impossible for any pursuer he considered dangerous to remain alive in this island! Bolton went, poor chap, and I would have gone but for you.”

Perhaps I pressed her arm a little. Anyhow, she answered nothing for a moment, and then in a low voice said,

“Poor Bolton! Oh, you’ve no idea how frightened I got that morning when I heard the news!”

I knew it was not for herself she was frightened, and my heart beat quicker.

“I wonder how it happened,” she went on. “I’ve often wondered since!”

“If I may venture to guess too,” I said, “I should say that Bolton was undoubtedly on the right track. He had found that Jock was not one of the family and had got suspicious of his movements, but one may safely take it Jock was watching him like a cat watching a mouse⁠—very likely he managed to overhear Bolton making enquiries, and he deliberately laid a scent for him that took him to the cliffs.”

“That sounds very likely,” said she. “And then he took Bolton’s pocket book and made those entries.”

“That pocket book is rather a sore subject!” I said.

I heard a little gurgle of laughter, but then she did not know how sore the subject was. My scene with the unfortunate doctor was hardly my happiest recollection of Ransay.

And so we went on trotting and walking and talking, and all the time I was realising more and more vividly that if this could only be made the first of ten thousand evenings with her, I should be the luckiest man in the world. Also I was realising that for some reason she seemed to think I had done something rather heroic in returning to the place where I had nearly been scythed and shot, and tackling the unknown enemy single-handed; especially after she happened to discover I had been wounded. It made me feel⁠—well, a little abashed and dreadfully afraid of being found out when she knew me better, but extraordinarily happy for the moment.

But for one sobering fact I should have told her everything I felt and hoped before that walk was over. The beard of Thomas Sylvester Hobhouse still wagged between us. Till I had got rid of that black hirsute horror I was not going to risk my chances of happiness. It was pitch dark, I admit, but then in certain delicate situations, well, if I were a girl I should strongly object, especially if I knew it were dyed and didn’t know if the dye would run.

And so we sent up the reinforcements, and then I saw her home, and hurried back myself with a dancing heart to meet the others.