Could I have been mistaken previously? No, I was certain my eyesight had not deceived me. How could it have? What I had descried had quite belied my expectation, and had been totally unforeseen. I returned to my bed determined to investigate the open window at the first opportunity. I slept ill, and when I rose I found the door of 'Brownie's' den open. Entering in, I saw that 'Brownie' had got up and the window was closed. Investigating further, I opened it cautiously and looked forth to see if there were any exit either to the ground or on to the roof. Evidently there could be none to the ground, for the room was situate at the height of the tall 'land.' Nor was there any opening on to the roof, so far as I could discover, for the little _tourelle_ overhung the wall, and no foothold was possible. Yet there was one way out. The 'land' stood in the narrowest part of the wynd; right opposite, and not more than five feet away rose the opposite wall, finishing off into a gable end with corbie-steps affording easy access to the further roof. Could 'Brownie' have leaped across? It was not impossible, as the space was so narrow, and though the window was small there was room to pass through. Then as I thus measured the spaces I caught sight of a plank below the window resting on the floor. 'Twas perhaps a foot and a half broad, in length about six feet--sufficient to act as a bridge across the wynd. I had discovered enough to excite my most vivid apprehensions as to its use, but nothing else in the little den gave any clue to the mystery. Descending the stairs I found my uncle already engaged upon breakfast. He seemed in high good-humour, and roasted me heartily upon my unpunctuality. 'Brownie' came in at that moment carrying some scones, and I noted out of the tail of my eye that he looked extremely haggard and miserable. Assuming a woebegone air I told my uncle that 'Auld Reekie' suited me poorly, and that the climate was too 'snell' for my southern constitution. 'Hae ye heard the sad bruit?' he asked suddenly, 'the causeway's fair ringin' wi't. Puir Tom Macalister, the rich shipper o' Leith, has been found wi' his throat cut lyin' ahint the dyke by the Leith walk. There's an unco scandal afoot anent it--some says a merry-begot o' his ain has done it oot o' revenge for bein' kep' short o' siller by his father.' He paused a moment, then added significantly, 'Ay, ay, Macalister was aye verra generous to the Foundlings' Hospital. Wha kens?' He heaved a sigh, but his eye twinkled satirically, 'The hairt o' man is deceitfu' an' daisperitly wicked,' and he lifted the whites of his eyes heavenward like a hound mourning. 'Was the poor man robbed?' I inquired shortly.