. will. . . they. . . no. . . let. . . mecome. . . up to Crask ... ony mair?’

‘I’m sure I don’t know. What’s Crask?’

‘Ye ken it fine. It’s the big hoose up the hill. I seen you come doon frae it yoursel’ this mornin’.’

Leithen was tempted to deny this allegation and assert his title of tourist, but something in the extreme intelligence of the boy’s face suggested that such a course might be dangerous. Instead he said, ‘Tell me your name, and what’s your business at Crask?’

‘My name’s Benjamin Bogle, but I get Fish Benjie frae most folks. I’ve sell’t haddies and flukes to Crask these twa months. But this mornin’ I was tell’t no to come back, and when I speired what way, the auld wife shut the door on me.’

A recollection of Sir Archie’s order the night before returned to Leithen’s mind, and with it a great sense of insecurity. The argus-eyed child, hot with a grievance, had seen him descend from Crask, and was therefore in a position to give away the whole show. What chance was there for secrecy with this malevolent scout hanging around?

‘Where do you live, Benjie?’

‘I bide in my cairt. My father’s in jyle, and my mither’s lyin’ badly in Muirtown. I sell fish to a’ the gentry.’

‘And you want to know why you can’t sell them at Crask?’

‘Aye, I wad like to ken that. The auld wife used to be a kind body and gie me jeely pieces. What’s turned her into a draygon?’

Leithen was accustomed, in the duties of his profession, to quick decisions on tactics, and now he took one which was destined to be momentous.

‘Benjie,’ he said solemnly, ‘there’s a lot of things in the world that I don’t understand, and it stands to reason that there must be more that you don’t.