Stepping from Thins the booksellers, Major James Sholto Drummond (retired) tucked his neatly wrapped new book into his portmanteau to protect it from the rain. How satisfying to have a fresh copy for the journey ahead. Wrapping his tweed coat ever tighter round him, the Major headed down the steps into Waverley Station. Raising his hat in apology, he cut his way through the lines of people queuing for tickets and made his way to a dingy corner office in the corner of the domed concourse.  

“Morning Mr Adams,’ he greeted the uniformed clerk."For once I’m not here on a recovery mission.” The Major was well-known to the staff of the Lost Property Office. Engrossed in his book on the train and in haste to disembark at his stop, it was not unusual for him to leave behind his umbrella or his hat. Not once had Drummond left behind his book.  

“When coming up from London someone left in my carriage a book I have reason to believe they might wish to recover. It’s not the book per se that is of value, you understand, but tucked into it is a sealed but unaddressed envelope.”  Drummond produced from his bag a well-thumbed and somewhat battered paperback, the envelope just protruding from its pages. “Would you be so good as to take this into your safekeeping? And can you ensure that it is only handed over to the rightful owner, that is, the person who asks for this particular title? I considered handing it in to the police but on reflection concluded the book’s as safe with you as with the constabulary and the owner is more likely to ask for it here.” 

Adams nodded. “Very good, Sir. Hand the book over only to the person who asks for it by name, you say.” 

“That’s the ticket! Good day to you.” Turning back, the Colonel added, “And by the way, Mr Adams, I may not be back for some time, so I must thank you for your many kindnesses down the years.” This matter attended to, Major Drummond hurried off to catch the Express to London. 

“Well, I’ll be blowed! Great Uncle Jim was always contrary, but this time he’s outdone himself.’” Philip set aside the morning post and helped himself to another cup of tea.  

“Sorry, what’s that?” Judith asked distractedly. She was trying to get the girls ready for school. She barely knew Phillip’s aging relative. Ex-army, a retired colonial administrator, Judith thought. Never married; spent all his working life overseas; not much for social chit-chat. The Major was always invited round at Christmas, of course, but generally forgotten again by his relatives by the time the New Year was rung in. The only conversation she could recollect having with him was when she had asked him about the climate when they had planned to take the girls on a cultural holiday to Egypt. Still, she knew that Philip considered it prudent to keep in with his great-uncle, as Jim had inherited not only the family’s desirable New Town house but also the country estate. 

“Listen to this,” Philip read on, his toast and marmalade neglected. “Since retiring from the Service and returning to the land of my birth, I’ve found the Scottish winters intolerable. I simply cannot face another one. I no longer feel at home in Scotland; I’m an anachronism here, much of what was once-familiar has gone. By the time you receive this letter I will be on my way back to India where I plan to spend the rest of my days. I have closed up the Edinburgh townhouse for now, and the estate is in the hands of a capable factor. This brings me to the purpose of this letter, a copy of which has been sent to each and every one of your cousins. 

I have been vexed as to what to do with our family’s estates in Scotland. I cannot bring myself to sell up, for the land has been in the Drummond family for generations. Although I consider each of you equally entitled to inherit, I propose to bestow the title deeds on the person who has shown the most interest in finding out what is of importance to me. Only this person has the key to a puzzle I now set you. I have deposited my most treasured book at the Lost Property Office at Waverley Station. To claim it, and the letter contained within it instructing my solicitor to hand over the deeds, all you have to do is ask for the book by its title. It should be an easy task for one who shares my interests. I have spent hours with this book. It conjures up for me a lost world, a Scotland long-gone and it reminds me of the old days and the old ways. No matter where I find myself, it takes me back to my Scottish roots.”  

“Well,” Philip turned to his wife, “what do you make of that? Damn rogue with his ‘puzzle’ and his self-conceit – ‘the person who most closely shares my interests’ indeed!” He ruminated, “The townhouse alone must be worth over a million. Just think, we could move from these pokey surrounds if we were simply given it. Have you any idea what this book might be?” 

“None whatever I’m afraid,” Judith replied. “I didn’t even know that Jim was much of a reader. Though come to think of it, he had no television, and the library was the only room with a decent fire.” Judith shuddered at the thought. “And there’s the rub. It’s certainly a most desirable house, but it would cost a fortune to fix up and to install central heating. I’ll leave you to ponder. I the meantime I have to get the girls off to school.”   

Similar conversations were had at a number of breakfast tables across Scotland. The prize of an elegant Edinburgh townhouse and several hundred acres of prime farmland in Perthshire was enough to make not a few couples regret they had not paid more attention to the Major. They had visited him of course, on occasion, out of duty, but few had really listened to anything Jim had said. Little was known of his interests, his taste in music or, more to the point, what he liked to read. 

His letter offered hints but nothing specific. The book concerned a lost world. The work of a famous Scottish author perhaps? Sir Walter Scott, or Robert Louis Stevenson? But which book: those long-winded chaps published so many. Maybe the book wasn’t a work of fiction, but a historical treatise on the clans, on Edinburgh in the Age of Enlightenment, or the Drummond lineage? The prize was tantalising, but given the endless possibilities, how to make the right guess? 

In the weeks that followed the Lost Property Office of Waverley saw a sudden surge in the number of enquiries concerning books. It would appear an entire library of had been mislaid. The range of titles of lost works was staggering. No-one seemed particularly sure which train they had been travelling on when they had left their book behind. The staff of the Lost & Found proved to be unbribable, and diligent in their duty. The office was never left unattended, so no-one had the chance to nip over the counter and rummage in the back office. The Major’s book remained on a back shelf, out of view and out of reach. As the weeks went by, the number of desperate, and vague, enquiries dwindled.  

One morning Mr Adams looked up from his ledger to see a schoolgirl approach the counter.  

“I’m sorry to trouble you,” she said tentatively, “but has someone handed in a copy of the Chambers Concise Scots Dictionary? It belongs, I think, to my Great-Great Uncle Jim. I’m a bit like him, in that neither of us enjoy parties much, and we both found this book fascinating. My ‘Gr-uncle’ (that’s what I call him) told me that this book held the secret key to the lost world of his childhood. You can open a page at random and find all sorts of strange words that few people use any more. When he was little, his nanny used broad Scots in the nursery when the grown-ups weren’t around. She’d call Jim her ‘peedie-wee peelie-wally loon’ when he was poorly, and when his asthma made him ‘pech’.  I felt like Alice in Wonderland when he talked of searching for ‘hairy oobits’ and ‘carl doddies’ in the long grass, and ‘partans’ on the shore.” 

“Ah, you’ll have come for the Major’s book, then?” Mr Adams observed with a smile. “Aye, for someone so correct, the gentleman liked a couthy turn of phrase. I’ll be pleased to give you the Scots Dictionary. I thought at the time it was odd that the book he claimed to have found on the train was the same as the one he always had with him.” 

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