Mists Of Uncertainty

: The Mystery Of The Green Ray

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 Shol o'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.