The two Professors Sir Clement Dane met with the Very Reverend Angus MacAngus and Grigori Rasputin an hour before they were to meet their buyers at Tweedbank Station; this was no time for braggadocio, if they wanted to avoid any noy, they would need to buttonhole the other party and hit the sweet spot running; they had all the documentation proving the provenance of the diary found in a ha-ha near Lesmahagow and certifying that it was indeed the genuine work of Sir Parlane MacFarlane: "what's their names again?" asked one of the Danes and Rasputin growled: "vun is Paderewski Varolov and the other Dmitri Dosvedanya, they are vat you call here Oiligarchs, they have privatised the Baku oilfields and become very rich men!" he spat on the pavement and cursed; "and should we, Grigori, old chap," ventured MacAngus, "quote the price we expect them to pay?" and the former Orthodox and then very Unorthodox Monk looked at him with contempt: "you ask for four times vat you vant, insist on three times, demand two times and settle for vat you vant – unless that's too much and they make you dead and take it for nothing," and he looked up at the Eildons, visible over the rooftops opposite: "vich they may do anyvay, vithout the trouble of haggling, it vill depend," and the other Dane asked: "depend on what?" at which Rasputin burst out laughing, great belly laughs which soon had the others joining in, so infectious was his good humour that they could not help it; and eventually MacAngus said: "you are caution, Grigori," at which Rasputin stopped laughing and said: "niet, I am a fatalist!"