I waited in the deep heather till I saw the smoke of an east-going train on the horizon.

Then I approached the tiny booking-office and took a ticket for Dumfries.
The only occupants of the carriage were an old shepherd and his dog--a wall-eyed brute that I mistrusted.

The man was asleep, and on the cushions beside him was that morning's SCOTSMAN.

Eagerly I seized on it, for I fancied it would tell me something.
There were two columns about the Portland Place Murder, as it was called.

My man Paddock had given the alarm and had the milkman arrested.