He walked Carver out of the cemetery, down the Harrow Road, and turned into the saloon bar of the first tavern that presented itself. "I'm going to have some ale and some bread and cheese," he observed, "and if you'll follow suit, Carver, we'll sit in that corner, and I'll tell you something that'll make your hair curl. Two nice plates of bread and cheese, and two large tankards of your best bitter ale, if you please," he continued, approaching the bar and ringing a half-crown on it. "Yes, Carver, my son--that will curl your hair for you. And," he went on, when they had carried their simple provender over to a quiet corner, "about that chap now known as Burchill--Burchill. Mr.--Frank--Burchill; late secretary to the respected gentleman whose mortal remains have just been laid to rest. Ah!" "What's the mystery?" asked Carver, setting down his tankard. "Seems to be one, anyway. What about Burchill?" "Speak his name softly," answered Triffitt. "Well, my son, I suddenly saw--him--this morning, and I just as suddenly remembered that I'd seen him before!" "You had, eh?" said Carver. "Where?" Triffitt sank his voice to a still lower whisper. "Where?" he said. "Where? In the dock!" Carver arrested the progress of a lump of bread and cheese and turned in astonishment. "In the dock?" he exclaimed. "That chap? Good heavens! When--where?" "It's a longish story," answered Triffitt. "But you've got to hear it if we're going into this thing--as we are. Know, then, that I have an aunt--Eliza. My aunt--maternal aunt--Eliza is married to a highly respectable Scotsman named Kierley, who runs a flour-mill in the ancient town of Jedburgh, which is in the county of Roxburgh, just over the Border. And it's just about nine years (I can tell the exact date to a day if I look at an old diary) that Mr. and Mrs. Kierley were good enough to invite me to spend a few weeks in Bonnie Scotland. And the first night of my arrival Kierley told me that I was in luck, for within a day or two there was going to be a grand trial before the Lords Justiciar--Anglice, judges. A trial of a man for murder!" "Great Scott!" said Carver. "Murder, eh? And"--he nodded his head in the direction of the adjacent cemetery. "Him?" "Let me explain a few legal matters," said Triffitt, disregarding the question. "Then you'll get the proper hang of things. In Scotland, law's different in procedure to ours. The High Court of Justiciary is fixed permanently at Edinburgh, but its judges go on circuit so many times a year to some of the principal towns, where they hold something like our own assizes. Usually, only one judge sits, but in cases of special importance there are two, and two came to Jedburgh, this being a case of very special importance, and one that was arousing a mighty amount of interest. It was locally known as the Kelpies' Glen Case, and by that name it got into all the papers--we could find it, of course, in our own files." "I'll turn it up," observed Carver.