Ye've managed well, Mr Brand, but I wish ye were back in London.' He sucked at his pipe, and the shaggy brows were pulled so low as to hide the wary eyes.

Then he proceeded to think aloud.
'Ye canna go back by Mallaig.

I don't just understand why, but they're lookin' for you down that line.

It's a vexatious business when your friends, meanin' the polis, are doing their best to upset your plans and you no able to enlighten them.

I could send word to the Chief Constable and get ye through to London without a stop like a load of fish from Aiberdeen, but that would be spoilin' the fine character ye've been at such pains to construct.