The Red-haired Man

: The Mystery Of The Green Ray

"I'll send the glasses at once," said Garnesk, as the train steamed

out of the station. Dennis and I stood on the platform and watched him

out of sight.



"He seems a good fellow," said Dennis.



"Splendid!" I agreed readily. "He's exceeding clever and wide-awake,

and very charming. What we should have done without him heaven only

knows. I fancy his visit saved the entire household from a nervou

collapse."



"We've no time for collapses, nervous or otherwise," Dennis replied.

"We shall want our wits about us, and we shall need all the vitality

we can muster. But at the same time I don't think there is any cause

for nerves. You're not the sort of man, Ron, to let your nerves get

the better of you in an emergency, especially if we can prove that our

enemy is a tangible quantity, and not a conglomeration of waves and

vibrations."



"Hilderman and his friend appear to be waiting for us," I interrupted.



"You may as well introduce me," said Dennis. "I'd like to meet the

man. Who is his friend, do you know?"



"Haven't the remotest idea," I replied. "I have seen him once before,

but that is all. I don't know who he is."



"Is he staying with Hilderman, or does he live in the neighbourhood?"



"That I couldn't tell you either," I said. "I'm sure he doesn't live

anywhere near Invermalluch."



As we strolled out of the station Hilderman and his companion were

standing chatting by the gate which leads on to the pier. As we

approached, Hilderman turned to me with a smile.



"Ah, Mr. Ewart," he exclaimed, "your friend has left you, then. I hope

you won't let his inability to help Miss McLeod depress you unduly.

While there's life there's hope."



"I shall not give up hope yet awhile, anyway," I answered heartily.



"May I introduce my friend Mr. Fuller?" he asked presently, and I

found myself shaking hands with the round-faced little man, who

blinked at me pleasantly through his glasses. I returned the

compliment by introducing Dennis.



"On holiday, Mr. Burnham?" asked the American. Dennis was so prompt

with his reply that I was convinced he had been thinking it out in the

meanwhile.



"Well, I hardly know that I should call it a holiday," he replied

immediately. "I have just run up to say good-bye to Ewart before

offering my services to my King and country. We had intended to join

up together, but he has, as you know, been detained for the time

being, so I am off by myself."



"We are very old friends," I explained, "and Burnham very decently

decided to come here to see me as I was unable to go south to see

him."



"Never mind, Mr. Ewart," said Hilderman. "I guess you'll be able to

join him very soon. I wish you luck, Mr. Burnham. I suppose it won't

be long before you leave."



"He's talking of returning to-morrow," I cut in. "I wish you'd tell

him it's ridiculous, Mr. Hilderman. Fancy coming all this way for

twenty-four hours. He must have a look round, to say nothing of his

stinginess in depriving me of his company so soon."



"Well, I can quite understand Mr. Burnham's anxiety to join at the

earliest possible moment," he answered. "But I've no doubt Lord

Kitchener wouldn't miss him for a day. I think he might multiply his

visit by two, and stop till Wednesday, at any rate. Ah, here's the

Fiona!"



I looked out to the mouth of the harbour, and saw the steam yacht,

which was in the habit of calling at Glasnabinnie, gliding past the

lighthouse rock. I was about to make some comment on the boat when

Hilderman forestalled me.



"How are you going back?" he asked.



"In a motor-boat," I replied. "I am afraid Angus is getting weary of

waiting already."



"I'm sure Mr. Fuller would be delighted to have you fellows on board.

Why not let your man take Mr. Burnham's luggage to Invermalluch, and

come to Glasnabinnie on the Fiona? You can lunch with me, and when

you tire of our company I will run you across in the Baltimore. Eh?

What do you say?"



"I shall be delighted, of course," his companion broke in.



I hesitated for a moment, and glanced at Dennis. His face obviously

said, "Accept," so I accepted.



"Thank you," I said; "we shall be very pleased. It will be more jolly

than going back by ourselves."



"Good!" cried Hilderman, "and I can show you the view from my

smoking-room. I hope it will make you green with envy."



So I gave Angus his instructions, and the four of us waited at the

fish-table steps for the dinghy to come ashore from the yacht. She was

not a particularly beautiful boat, but she looked comfortable and

strong, and her clumsy appearance was accentuated by the fact that her

funnel was aft a commodious deck dining-saloon, on the top of which

was a small wheel-house. Myra had been right, as it turned out; she

was a converted drifter. The two men who came in to pick us up wore

the usual blue guernsey, with S.Y. Fiona worked in an arc of red

wool across the chest. They were obviously good servants and useful

hands, but there was none of that ridiculous imitation of naval

custom and etiquette which delights the heart of the Cotton Exchange

yacht-owner. We boarded the Fiona with the feeling that we were going

to have a pleasant and comfortable time, and not with the fear that

our setting of a leather-soled shoe upon the hallowed decks was in

itself an act of sacrilege. We were no sooner aboard than Fuller set

himself to play the host with a charm which was exceedingly attentive

and neither fussy nor patronising.



"The trivial but necessary question of edible stores will detain us

for a few moments," he said. "But we shall be more comfortable here

than wandering about among the herrings." So we made ourselves

comfortable in deck-chairs in the stern, while the steward went ashore

and made the all-important purchases.



"You cruise a good deal, I suppose?" was my first question.



"Yes, a fair amount," our host replied. "I pretty well live on board,

you know, although I have a small house further north, on Loch Duich,

if you know where that is."



"Mr. Ewart was born up here, and knows it backwards," Hilderman

informed him. And we chatted about the district and the fishing and

the views until the steward returned, and we got under weigh. I should

have liked to have seen the accommodation below, but the journey was a

short one, and I had no opportunity to make the suggestion. Dennis

was sitting nearest the rail, and there was a small hank of rope at

his feet.



"I beg your pardon, Mr. Burnham," said Fuller suddenly. "I didn't

notice that rope was in your way." And he learned over and tossed the

rope away. As he did so some hard object fell with a clatter from the

coil.



"It's not interfering with me in the least," laughed Dennis, and

looked down at a large, bone-handled clasp-knife which had dropped in

front of him. He picked it up idly, and weighed it in his hand.



"Useful sort of implement," he said.



"Oh, these sailor-chaps like a big knife more than anything," said

Hilderman; "and, of course, they need them strong. I daresay that has

been used for anything, from primitive carpentry to cutting tobacco.

The one knife always does for everything."



We continued our conversation while Dennis idly examined the knife,

opening it and studying the blade absently. Presently Fuller, noticing

his absorption, began to chaff him about it.



"Well," he laughed, "have you compiled a complete history of the knife

and it's owner? If you're ready to sit an examination on the subject I

will constitute myself examiner, then we'll find who the knife belongs

to, and corroborate or contradict your conclusions."



"It's a very ordinary knife to find on board a boat, I should think,"

said Dennis.



"Oh come, Mr. Burnham," Hilderman joined in, "you mustn't wriggle out

of it. Surely you can answer Mr. Fuller's questions."



"If Mr. Fuller will allow me to put one or two preliminary questions

to him," Dennis replied, entering into the spirit of fun, "I am ready

to go into the witness-box and swear quite a number of fanciful

things."



"Come now, Fuller," chaffed Hilderman. "You must give him a run for

his money, you know. He is risking his reputation at a moment's

notice. I think you ought to let him ask you three questions, at any

rate."



"Fire away, Mr. Burnham," said our host. "I'll give you a start of

three questions, and then you must be prepared to answer every

reasonable question I put to you, or be branded publicly as an

unreliable witness and an incompetent detective."



Dennis puffed at his pipe and smiled, and I was surprised to see that

he really was bringing his mind to bear on the trivial problem with

all the acuteness he had in him.



"Well, in the first place," he asked, "do you stop in port very often

overnight, or for any length of time during the day?"



"I never stop in port longer than I can help," laughed Fuller, "or the

owner of that knife would probably take the opportunity of buying a

new one, and throwing this old thing away. All the same, I don't see

how that is going to help you."



"Ah," said Dennis, in bantering vein, "you mustn't expect me to give

away my process, you know. The secret's been in the family for years."



"What's your second question, Den?" I asked.



"Is there a hotel within reasonable distance of your house on Loch

Whatever-it-is, Mr. Fuller?"



"Loch Duich?" our host replied. "There's one about six miles by road

and eleven or twelve by the sea."



"I don't think I need ask you the third question, then," said Dennis.

"You can begin your examination now."



"Now, Mr. Burnham," Fuller commenced, "you quite understand that

anything you say will be taken down in writing, and may be used as

evidence against you?"



"I assure you I have a keen appreciation of the gravity of the

situation," Dennis replied seriously.



"Well," said Fuller, "I'll begin with an easy one--one that won't tax

your powers of observation beyond endurance."



"Yes," I urged, "let him down gently. He does his best."



"What profession does the owner of that knife follow?"



Hilderman and I laughed.



"We may as well count that answer as read," he said.



"There's a catch there, Dennis," I warned him. "The legal designation

is 'mariner.'"



"I don't think it is," said my friend.



"We won't quarrel about terms," laughed our host graciously. "Sailor

or seaman or deckhand will do just as well."



"No," said Dennis, "it won't. The owner of this knife is not a sailor

by profession."



"But," Fuller protested, "it must belong to one of my crew, and it is

obviously a seaman's knife."



"In that case," Dennis answered, "I think you'll find that you have a

man on board who is not a professional seaman in the ordinary use of

the term. I'll tell you what I think of this knife, shall I?"



"By all means," urged Hilderman and his friend together, and I began

to take a keen interest in this curious discussion, for I could see

that Dennis was no longer playing. He turned the knife over in his

hand, and looked up at Fuller.



"Mr. Fuller," he said quietly, "the owner of this knife is not a

sailor by profession. He is probably a schoolmaster. I can't be sure

of that, but I can say this definitely: he is a professional man of

some sort, possibly an engineer, but, as I say, more probably a

mathematical master. He is left-handed, has red hair, a wife, and at

least one child."



I shouted with laughter when I realised how thoroughly my friend had

pulled my leg, but I broke off abruptly when Hilderman sat bolt

upright, and his chair and Fuller's cigar fell unheeded on to the

deck. But in a second they took their cue from me, and roared with

laughter.



"Oh, excellent, Mr. Burnham," said Hilderman between his guffaws. "But

you forgot to mention that his sister married a butcher's assistant."



"Ah, but I don't admit she did," Dennis protested.



"I'm very much indebted to you for exposing this masquerader," said

Fuller. "I shall have the matter inquired into. But seriously, Mr.

Burnham, you made one extraordinary fluke in your deductions, which

almost took my breath away. I have a man on board with red hair, and

when the boat came into the harbour he was working about here. I saw

him leave his work to come ashore for us. I shouldn't be at all

surprised to find that the knife belonged to him."



"Oh, well," Dennis laughed, "one shot right is not a bad average for a

beginner, you know."



"No," said Hilderman, puffing a cloud of smoke, and dreamily following

its ascent with his eyes, "not bad at all. Not bad at all."



And then, the joke of the clasp-knife being played out, we admired the

scenery, and conversed of less speculative subjects till we arrived at

Glasnabinnie.



We were pulled ashore by the man with the red hair, and when our host

confronted him with the knife he promptly claimed it.



"I think you won, Mr. Burnham," laughed Fuller, and Dennis smiled

in reply. We slid alongside the landing-stage and stepped out, and

Dennis's schoolmaster was about to slip the painter through a ring

and make the boat fast. But evidently the ring was broken. The man

came ashore, and Hilderman began to lead us up the path. But Dennis

deliberately turned and watched the sailor. Hilderman and his

companion strolled ahead while I stood beside Dennis. The man with the

red hair fished among a pile of wire rope, and picked out a small

marline-spike. Then he lifted a large stone, held the marline-spike on

the wooden planking of the landing-stage, and hammered it in with the

stone. Then he threw the painter round it, and made the boat secure in

that way.



"Yes," murmured Dennis quietly, as we turned to join the others, "I

think I won."



For the man had held the stone in his left hand.