The need for decisive action was pressing, but in what direction was that action to be taken? One course, and one course only, seemed to Peebles clear for the moment. It was in his power to secure Moya’s safety from any further attempt. That could be done by simply telling the two villains now in the house that their nefarious proceeding of the night before was known. Once resolved, Peebles was as bold a man as any that ever trod shoe-leather; and with such a weapon as was furnished by his hold over the two Conseltines he would have faced an army. His resolution taken, he walked with an assured foot upstairs to Richard’s bedroom, and knocked at the door; it was opened by the elder man. ‘I’d like a word with you, if you please, Mr. Conseltine,’ he said. ‘Presently, Mr. Peebles, presently,’ said the other, who did not care to expose his son and confederate to the old man’s keen eye in his present pitiful condition of nervous excitement. ‘We have business of importance together.’ ‘It must be business o’ very great importance,’ said Peebles, ‘if it can’t wait till mine is finished.’ Conseltine’s hard eye dwelt on the old man’s face, and his lips twitched in a hopeless attempt to maintain their impassivity. ‘You are importunate, my old friend,’ he said. ‘Ye’d better listen to me,’ returned the grim old servitor. Conseltine stood aside to allow him to enter, and closed and locked the door behind him. Richard was seated on the bed. He made a terrible and clumsy effort to seem at ease as Peebles’ gaze passed lightly over him before it settled again on his father. ‘Well, sir?’ said Conseltine as calmly as he could. ‘Before making the communication I hae to make,’ said Peebles, his usual slow and deliberate drawl more slow and deliberate than ever, ‘I hae to tell ye that, but for the honour o’ the house I’ve served man and boy for five-and-forty years, I should have conseedered it my duty as a good citizen to hand you and your son, Mr. Richard Conseltine, here present, into the hands o’ justice.’ Neither of the persons he addressed making any reply to this preamble, Peebles continued: ‘When Larry’s mill was burned down last night, the woman once known as Moya Macartney, best known to you and me, Mr. Conseltine, as Lady Kilpatrick, was leeving there.’ That Conseltine knew of Moya’s claim to the title Peebles gave her was only a shrewd guess of the latter’s, but the start and pallor with which Conseltine heard the words showed the old man that the shaft had struck home. ‘The mill,’ continued Peebles, ‘was fired by you and your son there, in complicity wi’ one Feagus, the lawyer, wi’ the object of destroying the unfortunate lady, your brother’s wife.’ Richard gave a sort of feeble gulp at this, and cowered terror-stricken on the bed.