‘It’s Her Majesty of the Cadgers, my dear,’ said the Inspector; ‘we must ask her to come in.’ The parlour-maid smiled. ‘She says she wad like to see ye alone, sir. “It’ll no keep,” she says.’ ‘Impertinent woman!’ exclaimed Mrs. Somerville, ‘what can she have to say that I am not supposed to hear?’ ‘I would do a good deal to oblige her,’ said Somerville, dragging himself up. ‘Show her into the next room.’ Granny Stirk had put on her pebble brooch; the little woollen shawl, crossed over her chest with its long ends tied behind the waist, was of a bright red and black check; her head was bare and her thick iron-gray hair held by a black net; her gold earrings shone. An indefinable rush of fresh air, brine, and tar came in with her. ‘Sit down, Mrs. Stirk,’ said Somerville, as he stumped in. ‘What can I do for you?’ ‘Sir,’ said she, ‘could ye tell me what’s come of the Laird o’ Whanland?’ ‘God bless me!’ exclaimed the astonished sailor, ‘I think he’s in Spain.’ ‘Does he no write ye? A’ mind he was aye billies[1] wi’ you.’ [1] Friends. ‘I have heard nothing of him since he left.’ She made a gesture of dismay. ‘Mr. Barclay must know where he is,’ said he. ‘I could get his direction for you, I dare say, if it was anything urgent.’ ‘Fie, na!’ she exclaimed. ‘Lord’s sake! dinna say a word to the like o’ him!’ ‘But what is the trouble, my good woman?’ Before replying, Granny drew her chair close to his, throwing a searching look round the room and at the door; unfortunately, she could not see through the latter, but had she been able to do so, she would have noticed Mrs. Somerville standing on the door-mat. She plunged into her tale. ‘Did ye no ken that the Laird was just deein’ for yon lassie o’ her ladyship’s? A’ ken’t it fine, but he tell’t me no to speak a word, and, dod! a’ didna. Well, he cam’ in-by to me and tell’t me he was gangin’ awa’ for she wadna tak’ him. That was the way o’t; that was what gar’d the puir lad gang. Did ye ken that, sir?’ ‘I guessed it,’ said the Inspector, enormously surprised at this beginning. ‘Well,’ continued the Queen of the Cadgers, leaning forward and solemnly shaking his knee to compel attention, ‘well, she’s to be married in April month an’ she’s greetin’ hersel’ to death for the Laird.’ ‘How do you know that?’ asked Somerville. ‘A’ was puttin’ on a bittie fire at Whanland yesterday--a’ do that, whiles--an’ she cam’ ridin’ up. “Oh, Granny, let me come in-by!” says she. “What way are ye no here?” says I. “What way did ye let the Laird gang?” An’ she just began greetin’ till I was near feared at her; it was aye the Laird--the Laird. I wager she canna thole yon lad she’s to get. Says I, “Wad ye tak’ him if he was to come back i’ the now?” “Oh!” says she, “div ye think I wadna? Oh! if he was hame! If he was hame!” A’ could hae greetit mysel’, Captain.’ ‘But why did she not marry him at the beginning?’