"The lassie fund it," he whispered to Dickson, "somewhere about the kitchen--and I guessed it was the key o' this castle.

I was thinkin' that if things got ower hot it would be a good plan to flit here.

Change our base, like." The Chieftain's occasional studies in war had trained his tongue to a military jargon.
In the ground room lay a fine assortment of oddments, including old bedsteads and servants' furniture, and what looked like ancient discarded deerskin rugs.

Dust lay thick over everything, and they heard the scurry of rats.

A dismal place, indeed, but Dickson felt only its strangeness.