Archie still held on with back-boneless tenacity; but as the scrape of flint and steel cut the darkness, he knew that he had carried his superfluous pleasantries too far. He dared not loose Ferrier's ankle and roll to the wall, lest the action should prove him to be more wideawake and less intoxicated than he seemed. He could only bury his face in his sleeve. His next sensation was a violent stab of burning pain in his wrist that made him draw it back with a groan. "I knew that would mend matters," said James grimly, as he blew out the tiny twist of ignited tow and replaced it and the steel box in his pocket. "Come away--this sot has wasted our time long enough. He can sleep off his liquor as well here as anywhere else." "You've helped to sober him," said Ferrier, as the two men went out of the close. Flemington sat up. The burn stung him dreadfully, for the saltpetre in which the tow had been dipped added to the smart. But there was no time to be lost, so he rose and followed again. Ferrier and Logie went off up the High Street, and turned down an offshoot of it which Archie guessed to be the New Wynd, because it answered to its position in his map of the town. He dashed to the corner and watched them by the one light which illuminated the narrow street till he could see them no longer. Then he flitted after them, a soft-footed shadow, and withdrew under a friendly 'stairhead,' as he had done at the North Port. A little farther on he could distinguish the two ascending an outside stair to a squat building, and he heard the sound of their knuckles on wood. Another minute and they were admitted. The two captains were let into a small room in the back premises of 'The Happy Land' by a slatternly-looking woman, who disappeared when she had given them a light. Pens and ink lay upon the table and the smoke of lamps had blackened the ceiling. It was a wretched place, and the sound of rough voices came now and again from other parts of the house. James drew up a chair, and Ferrier also sat down, tossing the roll of paper to his companion. "A young man called Flemington is at Balnillo painting my brother's portrait," said Logie. "It's a pity that I have not something of his gift for drawing." "Flemington----?" said the other. "There is a widow Flemington who lives a mile or so this side of the Perthshire border; but that is the only part of the country I do not know." "This is her grandson. She lived at St. Germain, and her husband was with King James. He is a strange lad--a fine lad too. My brother seems mightily taken up with him." "Where is your plan?" asked Ferrier. James took out a small pocket-book and laid it on the table; then he smoothed out the roll of paper, drew the points of the compass on it, and began to copy from the rough sketches and signs which covered the leaf of his little book. Ferrier watched him in silence. "I could not do that were it to save my life," he said at last.