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My uncle was
the first to open my eyes regarding the true character of certain of the
men staying at Rannoch.
"I think, Gordon, that one or two of those fellows with Leithcourt are
rank outsiders," he said confidentially to me one night after we had had
a hard day's shooting, and were playing a hundred up at billiards before
retiring. "One man, who arrived yesterday, I know too well. He was
struck off the list at Boodle's three years ago for card-sharping--that
thin-faced, fair-mustached man named Cadby. I suppose Leithcourt doesn't
know it, or he wouldn't have him up here among respectable folk." And my
uncle, chewing the end of his cigar, sniffed angrily, seeming half
inclined to give his friend a gentle hint that the name Cadby was placed
beyond the pale of good society.
"Better not say anything about it," I urged. "It's Leithcourt's own
affair, uncle--not ours."
"Yes, but if a man sets up a position in the country he mustn't be
allowed to ask us to meet such fellows. It's coming it a little too
thick, Gordon.


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