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"My friend Leithcourt is awfully fortunate in getting such a splendid
old place as this. On every hand I hear glowing accounts of the number
of birds. The place has been well preserved in the past, and there's
plenty of good cover."
"Yes," I said. "Gilrae, the owner, is a keen sportsman, and before he
became so hard up he spent a lot of money on the estate, which, I
believe, has always been considered one of the very best in the
southwest. There's salmon, they say, down in the Glen yonder--but I've
never tried for any."
"Certainly there is. I've seen several. I hope to try one of these days.
The Glen is deep and shady--an ideal place for fish. The only
disappointment here, as far as I can make out, is the very few head of
black-game."
"Yes, but every year they are getting rarer and rarer in this part of
Scotland. A really fine black-cock is quite an event nowadays," I said.
While we were talking, or rather while I was carefully watching the
rapid working of his mind, Leithcourt himself entered and joined us.


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